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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27997230">a hat, a horse (a Hyundai), and the will to ride</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/elkleggs/pseuds/elkleggs'>elkleggs</a>, <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/synonym4life/pseuds/synonym4life'>synonym4life</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Captain America (Comics), Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(and overcoming it), (teenage fumbling), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Canon Divergence - Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Consensual Underage Sex, Digital Art, Emotional Constipation, Eurotrip, Explicit Sexual Content, Humor, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, POV Steve Rogers, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Scott Lang is the king of this fic, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, which are all eventually resolved lol</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 18:55:27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>67,673</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27997230</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/elkleggs/pseuds/elkleggs, https://archiveofourown.org/users/synonym4life/pseuds/synonym4life</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>After Steve and Bucky rescue their pals from the Raft prison, they decide to dig deeper into Zemo’s involvement in the UN headquarters’ bombing which sends them on a backpacking trip across select European countries. Steve and Bucky believe this is a story about their mission. Scott Lang and Sam Wilson, who join them halfway through, believe it’s a story about their Eurotrip (and they’re probably right). This writer, however, has been waiting to tell you that the fic’s true mission is Steve and Bucky missioning towards missionary. </p><p>Follow them on their journey across Europe in tiny cars, packed subway trains and even on skis as they tumble down the Swiss Alps (in a fun way this time!), all the while reigniting untold feelings of the past through inappropriate sexual encounters and terrible communication skills.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>184</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>201</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Not Another Stucky Big Bang 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Prologue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This will be a long author’s note, but the long list of people and their awesomeness who stand behind this fic cannot be ignored.</p><p>One: this fic is a collaboration between the wonderful, talented, kind, and inspiring elkane (<a href="https://twitter.com/elkane16">Twitter</a> and <a href="https://elkane.tumblr.com/">Tumblr</a> ) and I (my <a href="https://synonym-for-life.tumblr.com/">Tumblr</a>), Her art brought these characters to life and I couldn’t have asked for a better, more patient partner for this Bang. Her art to me is not just a physical representation of the characters, it’s much more. Her art brings the essence of the characters to life and I stand in awe of her incredible talent! So please, when you comment on the fic, also remember the art you’ve seen &lt;3</p><p>Two: This fic had two betas, both of whom are my very close fandom friends, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/agentmoppet/pseuds/agentmoppet">agentmoppet</a> and <a href="https://whiskyandwildflowers.tumblr.com/">whiskyandwildflowers</a>. Besides all of their help with commas and weird sentences that led nowhere, their flailing and love for this fic is the reason why I never truly started hating my own writing :’D</p><p>Three: I have to DOUBLY, (more like hundredly) thank whiskyandwildflowers because, without her, this fic would not have been what it is (if it even existed at all). Every. Single. Day. We chatted Steve and Bucky and Bucky and Steve and Steeble and Bucklard and just...you get it. Thank you for being my hyperfixation companion, whiskyandwildflowers, not only when it comes to Stucky, but also when it comes to hockey, our new big love, and to Chris Evans and his slutty, slutty insta posts. Your friendship is something that made this year not only bearable, but full of fun and laughter and joy and, yeah, I’m getting too mushy, but like it’s all TRUE. </p><p>Four: Last, but in no case least, thank you to the mods of (Not) Another Stucky Big Bang. You have done such an immense amount of work and I couldn’t thank you enough for all the amazing fic promo that you do on Twitter and Tumblr, for all the follow-up emails, and for all the detailed information that helped me never feel lost even in such a big Big Bang.</p><p>I know this is such a long author’s note, but fics and fests like this take work from much more than just one chaotic (often lost) writer.</p><p> </p><p>  <strong>This fic will be posted in its entirety by 19th December because that is the end of my NASBB posting window. I will post every two days, but might post more than one chapter on the final day.</strong></p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  </p><p>The light emanating from the cells was glaringly bright. Bright enough to prevent the prisoners from sleeping for a prolonged time, without doubt intentionally. As if to rub it in their faces, the space outside the cells that was clearly visible through the horizontal bars, was pitch black. Hearing someone coming, the man inside the cell who had been pacing up and down the cold floor, turned. For a split second his eyes went wide. Then, he smiled.</p><p>The man on the other side of the bars stepped out of the darkness, letting the light of the cell illuminate his front.</p><p>“Knew I’d come?” Steve answered the bright smile with one of his own. The cut at the corner of his mouth stretched painfully, but the happiness of seeing Sam again outweighed the pain.</p><p>Sam let out a huff of a laugh. There was a purple bruise visible high on his cheek from the fight at the airport. “I sure was hoping.”</p><p>A faint thud echoed through the darkness behind Steve and, moments later, without even a single audible footstep, Bucky came to stand by his side. They were both badly banged up, their uniforms singed from Tony’s lasers.</p><p>“Got rid of the last one,” Bucky said to Steve, but kept his eyes on Sam. The noise of the last guard (hopefully) being put to (non-eternal) sleep, had alerted their other friends too, and suddenly the raft prison was much louder than before.</p><p>“Rogers! Thank fucking god,” Clint yelled. He shook his head as if not quite able to believe Steve was there. “The bed was killing my back.”</p><p>“Captain America!” Scott shouted from his cell. “Hi, how are you doing? And you Mr. Soldier of Winter, how are you?”</p><p>Bucky gave Steve a look that Steve could only interpret as ‘we’re leaving <em>him</em> here’. Wanda’s reaction was a bit more subdued. Her torso was wrapped up in a straitjacket the sight of which made Steve’s blood boil in his veins. She looked even younger than she was as she tiredly rose from the bed in her cell. She smiled nonetheless. “I hope you’re here to get this off me?”</p><p>“That’s the idea,” Steve tried to sound as neutral as possible, but his voice was tight. They put her in a fucking <em>straitjacket</em>. He was glad the whole raft crew was either bound or unconscious already or he would have taken it out on someone a bit too enthusiastically.</p><p>“Man, I can’t tell you how happy I am to see you,” Sam drew Steve’s attention back to himself. “You too, Barnes.”</p><p>Bucky inclined his head. “Bird in a cage,” he greeted, the faint beginnings of a smirk in the corner of his mouth.</p><p>Sam rolled his eyes. “Hi to you too, Barnes.”</p><p>“Enjoying your accommodation?” Bucky asked, running his hand over the sturdy metal bars.</p><p>“Not too fond of the landlords, to be honest.” Sam’s mouth quirked up, before letting his gaze drop to Bucky’s left, subtly pointing to the missing arm that everyone else must have noticed, but didn’t dare comment on. Steve had managed to tweak the wiring so that it stayed inside, but the ripped edges of the arm were telling exactly how hard of a blast it had to be to tear his arm off. Sam frowned. “You okay?”</p><p>Bucky shrugged stiffly. “What’s an arm when you have two, right?”</p><p>“Wow, you don’t have your cool arm anymore. That’s bad. I think that’s bad right?” Scott said from the other end, his face between the bars. “What happened?”</p><p>“Tony,” Steve answered after a beat of silence. Tony’s livid eyes were still fresh in his mind, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth.</p><p>“Shit,” Clint swore, running his hand through his matted hair.</p><p>“Tony?” Sam’s shocked face came closer to the bars, ridden with guilt. “He said...Jesus fucking Christ, Steve I’m so sorry. He said he would come as a friend.”</p><p>So that was how Tony had found them. He eyed Sam carefully. Steve couldn’t blame it on him. Initially, Tony <em>had</em> wanted to help.</p><p>“He did at first,” Steve looked at Bucky, not wanting to continue if Bucky didn’t want everyone else to know about his involvement in Tony’s parents’ deaths. Not that keeping it secret did any good.</p><p>“Long story short,” Bucky spoke up from beside him, his voice striving for lightheartedness and not wholly succeeding, “Zemo killed the other Winter Soldiers. Plot twist; his plan, from the beginning, was to tear the Avengers apart. He made sure Tony found out I killed his parents, we fought him, he lost, and now we’re here. Oh, and Zemo is getting shipped to Wakanda.”</p><p>Silence fell as everyone tried to take in the drastic turn of events. Steve was glad that no one immediately demanded the details.</p><p>“Where’s Tony now?” Sam asked carefully.</p><p>“Probably somewhere in Siberia.” Steve shrugged, feeling strange without the weight of the shield on his back. He gripped the cowl in his hand tighter to leverage the discomfort. When they left Tony he was lying on the ground, breathing hard, in pain, with his suit ruined. It had felt tragic in a way that Steve had only ever seen in Ancient Greek tragedies. The son that was destroyed by the shield his father had made. The shield that was defending the person who murdered its maker. Steve supposed he was the villain of this story.</p><p>“Steve…” There was a warning note in Sam’s voice.</p><p>“I don’t care.” Steve looked him directly in the eye, gaze hard. “I don’t care, Sam.”</p><p>“He’s alive if that’s what you’re asking,” Bucky quietly assuaged Sam’s concerns. Steve hadn’t missed the way Bucky’s eyes had gotten wet after having watched the tape. Steve didn’t know how many memories Bucky had retained from his Hydra days, but judging by his reaction, Bucky had been forced to add another point of view to his murder of Howard and Maria. There was one thing Tony didn’t understand. Bucky had killed his friend first, Tony’s father second.</p><p>Sam looked like he wanted to say more, looking between Bucky and Steve as if trying to answer a question he didn’t even fully understand. Steve shook his head. They didn’t have time for questions. He turned around, getting to business.</p><p>“Me, Bucky and T’Challa came here to get you out.” Steve walked to the control panel, the opening mechanism for the cells immediately evident. He tapped the buttons and the bars retracted, letting the others walk out freely. Scott walked over to Wanda, quietly helping her out of the straitjacket, while Steve continued to explain the plan. “T’Challa’s dealt with the maintenance and communications crew. The communication will be down at least for another thirty minutes, but we better not stall. They must have noticed and are sending backup. We have two planes up there, the Quinjet and T’Challa’s jet. There’s another jet coming from Wakanda as T’Challa’s plane is too small to take you all there. T’Challa is up waiting for it.”</p><p>“The Quinjet isn’t too small to take us all,” Wanda’s voice drifted across the space. Her voice faltered a bit as she shook out her arms. It must have hurt to move them after having them strapped for so long. Her motor skills would probably need some time to recover, too.</p><p>“Me and Bucky are taking the Quinjet,” was all the explanation Steve offered. It was better if the others didn’t know where they were going. For Bucky and Steve’s safety and their own.</p><p>“You’re taking the Quinjet <em>where?</em>” Sam didn’t sound pleased with the news.</p><p>“We’re going to look into this thing with Zemo. Something’s not right here and I want to find out what.” They also didn’t really have anywhere to go and, as appealing as Wakanda sounded, hiding wasn’t in Steve’s blood.</p><p>“Zemo had an awful lot of funds for someone who lost everything in Sokovia.” Sam’s face was hard, eyebrows raised knowingly. Sam was smarter than anyone gave him credit for and he had obviously been asking himself all the same questions as Steve.</p><p>Steve nodded. “Bombing the United Nations building isn’t done by a homemade grenade… Getting into one of the most secure buildings in the world as a psychiatrist without a thorough background check and biometric identification also isn’t.”</p><p>“Inside job?” Sam asked.</p><p>“No,” Steve shook his head, then tilted it, “I don’t know. It seems like a far reach, but someone else wanted this and I want to find out who. And why. He definitely had help. Could be nothing. Could be just wealthy Sokovians funding him in search of revenge. Could be a Hydra faction we don’t know about.”</p><p>“Where will you start?” Sam looked between them, curious.</p><p>“Can’t say,” Steve motioned to everyone in the room. “Don’t want to put anyone in jeopardy.”</p><p>“Why?” Bucky tilted his head and narrowed his eyes at Sam. “You thinking of coming with?”</p><p>“Got nowhere else to go.” Sam shrugged.</p><p>“Sam...I don’t—” Steve started.</p><p>“Regroup first,” Bucky cut him off. “Separate. Lay low. Then Vienna in three weeks' time. We’ll discuss the details in the jet.”</p><p>“I’m coming too,” came from Steve’s left making him jump. He thought everyone else was busy taking the weapons off the guards and tying them up. The three of them turned towards Scott’s eager expression. “What? I’ve always wanted to go on a Eurotrip!”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>If you like the fic, reblog this <a href="https://synonym-for-life.tumblr.com/post/637779254866837504/a-hat-a-horse-a-hyundai-and-the-will-to-ride">Tumblr post</a> or this <a href="https://twitter.com/anotherstuckybb/status/1339754748350767104">Twitter post</a> to spread the word! :*</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Hitting the Trail</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p><strong>Word of warning</strong>: Steve and Bucky travel to Crimea and briefly discuss the issues regarding it. As per  Wikipedia, "Crimea is a peninsula located on the northern coast of the Black Sea in Eastern Europe that is almost completely surrounded by both the Black Sea and the smaller Sea of Azov to the northeast. The status of Crimea is disputed. It is claimed by Ukraine and recognized as Ukrainian by most other countries, although it has been administered by Russia following its annexation to the country in 2014."</p><p>I have discussed the issues regarding Crimea's annexation to Russia with <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/need_more_meta">need_more_meta</a>, a native Ukrainian, but I feel like I have only begun to scratch the surface of this issue, so I admit, there are still things I don't fully know and understand. What is more, when you are reading those sections please keep in mind that Crimea is being discussed by two Americans (and soldiers at that) one of whom also has a history of being a Soviet assassin. This all influences their opinions/righteousness/dismissiveness etc. Do not take their words for gospel and research for yourself if you want to know more!</p><p>Huge <strong>thank you</strong> to need_more_meta for chatting Crimea as well as Ukrainian culture with me and for helping me with the Russian in the next chapter! </p><p><strong>ART!</strong> There is elkane's (her <a href="https://elkane.tumblr.com/">Tumblr</a> and <a href="https://twitter.com/elkane16">Twitter</a>) art in this fic and it's just <em>so fucking good</em> pls flail over it with me in the comments, I've been looking at this art for months and had only a handful of people to flail over with which was <em>not</em> enough.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The rear door of the Quinjet slid closed on the mist crawling over the dark mountain plain. Scott and Sam were nowhere to be seen, lost to the night already. They were somewhere in the Austrian Alps, dropping them off in what looked like the middle of nowhere. Sam had insisted he knew what he was doing, though, and Steve trusted him. The plan was to lie low for a while, but doing it together would cause too much suspicion, so they had to disperse for a while. Besides, Steve had a feeling Bucky had some other plans. Steve didn’t like not being informed about plans, but he also didn’t want to ask. Bucky had been...distant to say the least. There was tension between them built of bricks of past horror that Steve didn’t know how to climb. So Steve sat in its shadow.</p><p>“What about us?” he asked in the end.</p><p>He turned to look at Bucky, struck by how much had happened since they last stood at the back of the jet. Not even a whole day had passed and in the meantime they’d marched into the Soviet facility, expecting to have to fight the other Winter Soldiers before they could be set onto the world. Instead, they found them dead, and it was Tony they ended up fighting. They left the bunker battered, bruised and bloodied, and with Bucky missing an arm.</p><p>Bucky had made Steve pick up the blown-off metal limb before they left. Steve hadn’t questioned him. He had picked up the arm and limped to the jet with Bucky leaning heavily onto his side.</p><p>The second to last time they stood next to each other like this was seventy years ago, high above the snow-covered train tracks, a deep ravine mocking them from below.</p><p>“We need to get rid of this thing.” Bucky pulled Steve out of his thoughts. He motioned at the walls of the jet, dark again, now that the feeble light of the moon no longer shone through the back door. He swayed on his feet as he turned his head, offset by the lack of weight on his left side. Steve felt a new surge of anger pound through him. He clenched his fists.</p><p>“Get rid of the Quinjet?” He didn’t like the thought of losing such a tactical advantage—a fast, airborne vehicle filled with weapons and medicine and other handy supplies. But… “Yeah, I agree. It’s too risky to keep it, but I don’t like it. It’s useful and we won’t be able to take even a quarter of the supplies in here.”</p><p>“We’ll take what we can carry,” Bucky swept his eyes around the interior. Steve could see the Winter Soldier in him doing an inventory of the supplies, calculating, planning. He’d seen the same methodical approach to a stressful situation in Bucky’s apartment in Bucharest. Bucky seemed to detach, logic and training taking over. It was incredible the way he was able to take the situation as it was; nothing more, nothing less but what was happening. He detached all emotion and judgment from it in order to get the necessary things done, something Steve had never been able to do. Steve’s emotions were mixed into every action he took, every fight he fought.</p><p>When Bucky was done inspecting the Quinjet he turned and looked Steve over too. He frowned. “Are there any spare clothes in here? Backpacks, sports clothes, jeans, anything?”</p><p>“Uhh, no,” Steve shook his head, “I don’t think so. Only tac gear.”</p><p>“Right. <em>Heroes</em>,” Bucky muttered under his breath. He was about to stalk to the pit when he paused. His eyes flicked to Steve quickly and then back, to the front. He hesitated.</p><p>“You can still go back, you know,” he finally spoke, gaze firmly on the metal wall of the jet. “Drop me off somewhere in Russia, take back the jet, do some groveling, and I’m sure they’ll take you back with open arms.”</p><p>“I’m not—” Steve started.</p><p>“No, let me finish. I’m the weight dragging you under,” Bucky said it so matter-of-fact that Steve, hate it or not, could almost see his point. “Without me, you can pretty much go back to your normal life, but if you go with me… it’s running and more running.”</p><p>“No,” Steve said firmly. It was all that came out of his mouth, but every single particle in his body resisted this idea.</p><p>Bucky didn’t meet his eyes, but his voice was less sure when he continued, “Stark’s your friend.”</p><p>
  <em>The beam shooting from Tony’s hand hit Steve in the chest and he went down with it, sprawling on his knees in front of Bucky’s unconscious body.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“He’s my friend.” Steve’s breaths were coming fast, his chest burning where the beam had hit, but the pain was distant in a way that it almost didn’t feel like his own. For the first time in his life, it was Bucky on the floor and Steve was the one still standing and he would sooner let all his blood run out through his knuckles than stop punching.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“So was I,” Tony said and pain exploded over Steve’s cheek.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Was,” Steve corrected.</em>
</p><p>Shaking his head, he walked up to the pit. His leg hurt something awful when he sat down behind the controls. He didn’t think anything was broken, it felt more like a muscle tear. He would live. “So, where to?”</p><p>Steve didn’t care where they went but he knew Bucky had a plan or in the very least an idea. Steve probably wouldn’t like it, but he would trust Bucky with his life. Bucky might have been ready to go it alone, but Steve wasn’t letting him out of his sight unless Bucky straight up told him to fuck off.</p><p>“Crimea,” Bucky answered, sitting down in the chair next to Steve heavily.</p><p>“Ukraine.” Steve nodded.</p><p>“Or Russia,” Bucky said. He tapped on the console pulling up a map of Europe, zooming in until only the peninsula on the coast of the Black Sea was taking up the screen. “Depends on who you ask. Mostly it’s Russia right now. Led and ruled by Kremlin.”</p><p>“Right,” Steve frowned, “but you’re missing the part where Russia completely illegally annexed the area. Some would even say occupied.”</p><p>Steve might have only been out of the ice for four years, but he knew what was going on in the world, at least roughly. Bucky paused with his finger over the map, before he turned to face Steve.</p><p>“I literally don’t care.” He winced, the position reminding his body of the blows he got to the ribs. “Russia is safer than any Western country, Crimea especially so as it’s the one area the West doesn’t want to mess up right now. That will buy us time. Before the word gets out that the Quinjet landed there, we’ll likely be out of the country.”</p><p>“Right,” Steve repeated. He still didn’t like it, but he had to admit the reasoning behind it was good.</p><p>“Besides,” Bucky continued, “the population is largely ethnically Russian.”</p><p>“Thought you didn’t care,” Steve challenged with a raised eyebrow.</p><p>“I don’t. But not everything’s as black and white as you think.” Bucky focused his eyes back on the map. “Now take off already. We don’t have all day. I’ll tell you where to land after I get a closer look at the map. We must get there before dawn.”</p><p>“Maybe you should,” Steve muttered as he punched the motors into action. “Care that is.”</p><p>“Not everyone can care about everything,” Bucky countered, his gaze fixed into the darkness. “Now drive, Rogers.”</p><p>Steve couldn’t help the warmth that settled over him at the sound of his surname. Bucky only called him Rogers when he was annoyed, but it was such a familiar thing, the lilt of his voice when he said it, the prickly irritation in the tone, the tinge of fondness underlying it all.</p><p>“It’s called flying, but ok,” Steve quipped back and took off.</p><p> </p><p>✩✩✩✩✩✩</p><p> </p><p>They reached Simferopol, the main city of the Crimean peninsula, in less than an hour. Bucky directed Steve to the outskirts of the city, pointing at the barely visible grey patch of land that got bigger and bigger the closer they got.</p><p>“Shut down the lights,” Bucky had commanded when they were still at a flying height of commercial planes. Steve had looked at him as if he was mad.</p><p>“How the hell am I supposed to land this thing in the dark?” They’d left Sam and Scott on a mountain plain, with no houses in close proximity. Anyone who’d seen the lights of the jet would have assumed it was a helicopter searching for a lost hiker.</p><p>“Don’t worry.” Bucky’s eyes gleamed in the darkness, when Steve, as told, shut off the jet’s outside and inside lighting. “I’ll brace.”</p><p>If they were in Brooklyn, or in some stinky army camp in Europe, Steve would have rolled his eyes and said something smart back, but they were more than seventy years apart, so Steve just smiled, something warm and comforting spilling in his chest. This was familiar. Not the same, but familiar. Not the childhood home you grew up in, but the childhood home you returned to after your parents died. It was Brooklyn, changed and new and modern, and it broke your heart, but also elevated it when you saw the same brick house Mrs. Cork had lived in still standing.</p><p>Once Steve’s eyes adjusted to the glowing moonlight, he eased the jet down towards the mass of grey which he soon noticed was a giant quarry that stretched below them like a scab on Earth’s crust.</p><p>“This will leave the jet exposed.” Steve looked at Bucky askance.</p><p>“For a few hours.” Bucky nodded. “We won’t leave it here, we’re just picking up some supplies.”</p><p>“Of sand?” Steve frowned at the expanse of grey before him. He pushed the buttons on the left of the console, slowing the jet practically to a hover as he started dropping it slowly. The problem was he couldn’t see the piles of rock and sand very well. It was all the same color in the darkness.</p><p>“Don’t be an idiot on purpose.” Bucky leveled him with a glare, then immediately looked like he regretted it. He awkwardly fixed his hair. “Sorry.”</p><p>“For what?” Steve squinted, trying to see better, there was some light mist in the air. “Calling me an idiot? It’s not like I’m not used to it.”</p><p>“Don’t know what you’re used to anymore,” Bucky muttered, looking from Steve to the window, eyes sweeping the edges of the quarry.</p><p>“Don’t worry, Nat and Sam call me an idiot all the time.” Steve threw Bucky what he hoped was an easy smile, trying not to show how his chest had twisted at the reminder of the lost years. The reminder of the grief he’d carried after losing the most important person in the world, then finding them and losing them again, and realizing the old grief didn’t budge but a new one joined it, then finding the person again and realizing the grief was there to stay.</p><p>“Someone has to,” Bucky grumbled. “God knows what you’d be doing if—<em>Jesus fucking Christ</em>.”</p><p>The rest of the sentence was replaced with more grumbling and swearing as the jet shook violently upon touching the ground and then trembled even harder when it slid down the soft sand.</p><p>Steve’s smile was a lot more mischievous this time. “Thought you said you’d brace.”</p><p>“Dumbass.”</p><p>Steve shrugged. “Used to that as well.”</p><p>They unbuckled themselves from the seat and stood up. Steve tried distributing most of his weight on one leg which gave him a pronounced limp when he walked over to the weapons. Bucky said they were getting supplies, but he didn’t say where. In any case, they were going to have to take a gun or two.</p><p>“What are you doing?” Bucky’s voice piped up. Steve looked around and saw him holstering a small handgun.</p><p>“Same as you?” He turned back to the guns, trying to pick the best replacement for the shield and failing terribly at trying to gauge which weapon he’d find the easiest and least disturbing to handle.</p><p>“You’re staying here.” Bucky reached past Steve, nonchalant, and picked up two knives. Struggling with only one arm, he tucked one into the pocket of his black trousers and the other into the thigh holster.</p><p>“Like hell I am.” Steve pulled two handguns from the rack. They would have to do.</p><p>“Someone has to guard the Quinjet,” Bucky wasn’t even looking at him, only casually tucking the weapons into the nooks and crannies of his pants and vest Steve didn’t even know existed. “Plus we need to be quick and quiet, and, although you manage the quick part, you gotta work on those elephant strides.”</p><p>Bucky looked up as Steve fixed him with an ugly stare. For a second, Steve was back in Brooklyn, in their cramped kitchen, getting told he couldn’t throw a punch for shit if his face ended up looking that beat up after a fight.</p><p>“You literally <em>don’t have an arm</em>,” Steve reminded him because he felt like that was a damn good point to make. If anyone, it should be him going out, not Bucky.</p><p>“Thanks, I noticed,” Bucky said dryly. The silence that followed was awkward and it made Steve regret mentioning it. He didn’t quite understand what Bucky’s relationship to the arm was, but it was obvious discussing it made him tense up no matter how lightheartedly he tried to dismiss it.</p><p>“Anyway, you’re staying here,” Bucky broke the silence. When Steve opened his mouth to protest, he stopped him. “For god’s sake, Rogers, listen to me. I’ll be back in two hours max, all I’m getting is some new clothes and a backpack or two if I can find it. If we’re going to do this, we need civilian clothing. I can’t walk around in tac gear and you,” he smirked, looking Steve up and down, “can’t walk around in your costume.”</p><p>Steve narrowed his eyes. When he felt like that didn’t show his annoyance vividly enough, he also crossed his arms. “And where will you get all that in the middle of the night?” Steve let the costume comment slide.</p><p>“See, this is why you’re not going,” Bucky replied smugly, “I know where and how to get what we need and you—don’t.”</p><p>Steve glared at the side of Bucky’s head while he packed his pockets full of Natasha’s electric shockers.</p><p>“Fine,” Steve conceded but couldn’t stop himself from frowning even harder. Bucky had a point. They had to get this stuff quickly and they couldn’t afford to be noticed and two people would definitely draw more attention than one. Steve would sit in the jet like a stupid taxi driver and wait. He could do that. He didn’t have to like it, though. “<em>Fine</em>.”</p><p>“Good, because arguing about this just took us ten minutes,” Bucky pointed out.</p><p>Instead of replying, Steve stalked to the pit and pushed on the lever that opened the back door of the jet. He made a grand <em>be my guest</em> gesture with his arm. Without a word, without even an expression on his face, Bucky walked out, quiet as the night.</p><p>“I don’t have elephant strides, though!” Steve yelled after him just to be an asshole. He knew there weren’t any people around. The heat sensors hadn’t shown any.</p><p>“Stop trumpeting so loudly!” Bucky yelled back and then he was gone, a shadow lost in the darkness.</p><p>Steve waited.</p><p>Bucky would have probably called it a prolonged sulk, but Steve thought he was doing a pretty good job of being patient. He only had to talk himself down from leaving five times, even though he steadfastly ignored that it was mostly only because he didn’t know where Bucky had gone. This was also why worry started settling into the pit of his stomach with every minute that ticked by. He knew Bucky was competent, much more competent for this kind of job than Steve would ever be, but worry gnawed at him anyway, He had no means of contacting Bucky. He didn’t even have a vague idea of where he went, not even as much as north, south, east, or west.</p><p>He could have just...left. Again. Steve didn’t think he could handle that.</p><p>After an hour and forty-seven minutes that got more and more gloomy by the second, a red dot glowed on the screen depicting the perimeter around the jet. It indicated that something alive and large enough to be picked up by the radar was coming near. Steve perked up. It was probably Bucky returning. Nonetheless, he took a gun in his hand and stood up. God, he missed his shield. This was beyond sub-par. Yes, he could <em>shoot</em> with a gun, but there was nothing to protect him from the bullets others were shooting at <em>him</em>. But like that guy who liked going around the world drinking his own piss and sleeping in dead camels said: improvise, adapt, overcome.</p><p>When the red dot came right up to the jet, Steve tensed up, listening. If it was Bucky he would likely give some indication that it was him and not just a random passerby sent to investi—</p><p>A long nasalized wail came from beyond the back door, followed by laughter that was so familiar Steve would have recognized it anywhere. It was closer to the subdued chuckle of the fear-filled nights of 1943 than the warm Brooklyn-sunset one he used to know before, but it was so unmistakably Bucky Steve smiled in spite of himself. He hastily opened the door.</p><p>“Was that supposed to be the sound elephants make?” Steve asked, eyebrows climbing onto his forehead, unimpressed.</p><p>“You’d know better than me,” Bucky threw back at him, walking inside. The deep frown he had been sporting the whole way to Crimea had eased. He must be pleased with his nightly loot. Or maybe, he simply reveled in some alone time, Steve couldn’t tell. He couldn’t tell a lot of things these days. The joking and teasing came easily to them, it always had, but there were things between them left unsaid—<em>for so many years, they hadn’t been saying things for so many years</em>—that Steve didn’t think his mouth was even able to form them.</p><p>“Should we change now or...?” Steve took some of the weight off Bucky’s arm.</p><p>Bucky glanced out of the window. The night was as dark as it was an hour ago, but Steve knew dawn would start breaking soon.</p><p>“No.” Bucky shook his head. “We’ll go to the Yalta Mountains and leave the jet in those woods. We’ll change there. We have to make the best of the night, you know how crazy the hikers are, they go crawling up the mountains before normal people are even awake.”</p><p>Steve nodded even though he had no clue about recreational mountain climbing and he would continue having no clue about it if it was up to him. Mountains left a bitter taste in his mouth.</p><p>✩✩✩✩✩✩</p><p> </p><p>The Yalta mountains turned out to be a lot less mountain-y than the Alps. The night was still pressing down on them, the leaves of the trees below colorless. There was no space for a clean landing, but Steve had expected that. You don’t simply land a plane in a forest.</p><p>“You better really brace now,” Steve advised, checking the tightness of the straps around his own torso before glancing at Bucky. Reluctantly, Bucky got into the classic brace position. Steve followed him after pushing the last few buttons for automatic descent.</p><p>In a matter of seconds, they plunged through the trees, breaking branches, the metal screeching against the splintering wood. Alarms went off all over the console: damage to the left motor, left wing practically ripped off, the landing wheels bent beyond functionality. With a slide through the last branches, the jet hit the floor, the things that weren’t tied down or stored in tightly shut cabinets spilling and falling about them. When the plane finally shuddered to a stop and Steve lifted his head, Bucky was already unbuckling himself.</p><p>“Think they’d let me in the air force?” Steve asked with a wry smile, shaking his head to get rid of the ringing in his ears.</p><p>“Sure.” The tone of Bucky’s voice pretty clearly showed he wasn’t amused, “you only crash every plane you fly.”</p><p>“Ah, you heard about the Valkyrie?” Steve hadn’t ever really thought about it, but if Bucky had read just about anything on Steve he would know that Steve sank the plane on purpose.</p><p>“Yes,” Bucky offered him a curt reply, fixing him with a stare.</p><p>Steve could feel his neck start to flush with embarrassment as if on cue. God, this was Brooklyn all over again. Brooklyn and Bucky’s hard eyes trained on his split lip while he dabbed at the blood with a wet cloth.</p><p>
  <em>“He had it coming,” Steve said, chin jutting out in defiance, but casting his eyes away from Bucky’s penetrating blue ones. He felt ashamed, getting into fights he couldn’t win and involving Bucky in his messes. Steve tried to explain, “He called Lucy a slut.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Didn’t ask, did I?” Bucky paused in his ministrations long enough to catch Steve’s eyes.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The thing was, Bucky never asked. When Steve came home with a bloody nose, a split lip or a bruised cheek, he simply patched him up, glaring all the while, but saying nothing. Years of experience had taught him it wouldn’t help anyway.</em>
</p><p>“You think it was a stupid thing to do.” Steve returned to the present.</p><p>“Damn right I do,” Bucky told him without missing a beat then trudged to the pile he’d brought with him from Simferopol.</p><p>The bags had been knocked about during their landing (if one was generous enough to call it that) and the clothes had spilled all over the cabin. Bucky bent down, picked up some sweatpants, a sports t-shirt and a wind jacket, motioning to Steve that he should do the same. Before Steve even started sorting through the clothes, Bucky had unzipped his black jacket and shrugged it off. Without preamble, he pulled off the black long-sleeved undershirt and pulled it over his stump and head. Steve averted his eyes from Bucky’s naked torso and focused on finding the right clothes for himself. He made quick work of undressing himself, and even quicker work of pulling on the sweatpants and t-shirt, not unlike the kind Bucky had.</p><p>“Jeez,” Steve said once he had put on all the clothes. He lifted one leg then the other, feeling the tightness of the sweatpants around his thighs. The t-shirt was even worse. He felt like someone had put him into a corset. “These are tight.”</p><p>“You’re one to talk,” Bucky huffed, but the reply was muffled by the t-shirt he was trying to get over his head with his only arm half-way inside the sleeve.</p><p>“What?” Steve asked dumbly, having been distracted by the purpling bruises all over Bucky’s ribs when he looked up. A patch of skin by his hip looked like it had been burnt. It wasn’t anything they weren’t used to, but Steve’s only memory of Bucky’s injuries came from the war and for a second he saw the olive green fabric being swallowed up by red.</p><p>“You with your tiny Under Armour t-shirts—a little help here?” he waved at Steve. Steve stepped closer to pull the neckline over Bucky’s head and carefully wrapped the metal stump in the other sleeve. “—with your tiny Under Armour t-shirts that look like you stole them from a child,” Bucky finished his thought.</p><p>“They’re not tiny,” Steve protested, a bit indignant. The salesperson had assured him they were in his size.</p><p>“I’ve seen the photos, Steve.” Bucky looked at him completely expressionless. “<em>Tiny</em>.”</p><p>“You been googling me, Barnes?” Steve smirked.</p><p>He got an eye roll in return. “Of course, I’ve been googling you, I had to find out what your deal was back when I couldn’t remember.”</p><p>Steve had been wondering. During the mission in Lagos that had started this whole mess, Rumlow had said that Bucky remembered him, but he had also said they’d wiped him again right after. Did Bucky remember his mother, his father, his two sisters? Did he remember Sarah Rogers? Did he remember how they met? Did he remember their apartment in Brooklyn? Did he remember…</p><p>“And now?” Steve didn’t dare look directly into his eyes lest he betray how much this had been weighing on him.</p><p>“Some.” Bucky shrugged as if it didn’t matter, but Steve could see the stiffness in his shoulders. After a pause, he added quietly, “A lot, I think.”</p><p>“That’s—that’s good,” Steve nodded. He was happy that Bucky remembered, he only wished he’d been there to help sort through the memories, tell him about the tiny things that might still be hiding somewhere in his mind, or simply unimportant things like the way the snow in the winter piled onto the fire escape, flake by flake, and how Bucky was always so fascinated by it that he stood outside in the cold until he started shivering head to toe.</p><p>“Anyway,” Bucky cleared his throat, “these are the only clothes I could find that are big enough to kind of fit us. Be glad I didn’t get clothes from all the other houses I broke in. Very small people lived in all but one.”</p><p>“You broke into <em>houses</em>?” Steve didn’t know what he had expected Bucky to say but, apparently, it wasn’t that.</p><p>“Where else was I supposed to get all this stuff at this time of day?” Bucky didn’t match Steve’s indignation, if anything, he looked vaguely confused.</p><p>“Wait…” Steve frowned looking down at the rest of the clothes strewn across the floor. There weren’t many, but there were some jeans there, some hoodies, some jumpers and a few more t-shirts. “You got all of these in <em>one</em> house?”</p><p>Bucky shrugged. “Let’s just say one big Russian fella will wake up in the morning and not have anything left to wear.”</p><p>The mental image that produced in Steve’s head made him laugh suddenly and loudly. Bucky’s mouth quirked into a smile too and for a second everything was alright between them. Then Bucky jerked his head at the mess on the floor and they got to work, packing the spare clothes into two large hiking backpacks. After that, they packed some medicine and first aid equipment, followed by guns, knives and electric shockers. They stuffed some of these into the pockets of their jackets as well. Steve only hoped they wouldn’t go off by accident. Getting electrocuted while walking down a mountain wasn’t high on his list of Ways I’d Like To Die.</p><p>They were out of the Quinjet in twenty minutes after they crashed through the trees. Bucky had made them wipe the blood off their faces and knuckles in a poor attempt at making their injuries look less severe. They ended up slightly more presentable, but not presentable enough to stop them from looking like they had been steamrolled by a hoard of bison. The superficial injuries would heal in a few hours, but the deeper ones would take a while.</p><p>They didn’t have to discuss where they were going, their only plan was to find some sort of civilization, and to do that they had to descend the mountain. They both knew that strategically they were most likely to happen upon a hiking trail if they walked horizontally along the slope, however, the energy expenditure was greater that way than simply walking downwards, which is why they opted for a downward diagonal which would be most efficient when it came to preserving energy and still finding a trail so that they didn’t have to trudge through the undergrowth and uneven ground.</p><p>Every step he took reminded Steve of the searing pain in his leg. He hadn’t been this beat up since the fight with Ultron. Through the haze of pain, he kept catching glimpses of the Black Sea. The trees were obstructing the view, but it looked beautiful even in the dusk of dawn. Just as Steve was admiring the tiny bit of coast he could see in the distance, Bucky stopped so abruptly that Steve walked right into his giant backpack. Bucky turned on his heel, almost sweeping him sideways.</p><p>“Did you take my arm?” He asked. He was very close and Steve could clearly see the line of worry between his eyebrows.</p><p>“Didn’t <em>you</em> take your arm?” Steve couldn’t really remember who packed what.</p><p>“No, I thought you were going to take it.” Steve could tell Bucky was trying not to sound accusing but was failing terribly.</p><p>“It’s <em>your</em> arm.” Steve really didn’t think he could be blamed for that one.</p><p>
  <em>“The keys!” Steve shouted down the staircase as soon as he ran through the door.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Shut up!!!!” An angry, raspy voice that couldn’t belong to anyone but Mr. Williams, shouted back. Mr. Williams hated noise, which was unfortunate since he lived in Brooklyn and no one in Brooklyn ever shut up.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Bucky! The keys, goddamnit!” Steve ignored their grumpy neighbor and ran down the stairs. “Bucky!”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“What?! Steve, that you?” echoed up from the foyer. Bucky must have been about to walk out.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“You didn’t take your goddamn keys,” Steve shouted, but not as loudly as before because Bucky was already climbing the stairs back up. Steve walked down to meet him. “You forgot your keys. I'm not going to listen to your poor attempts at breaking in at 2 am again."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>His breath was coming short due to the wild dash he’d made out of the apartment.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Aw, don’t be a nag,” Bucky told him with a wink as he took the keys from Steve’s hand. His gaze softened when he added, “Thanks, Stevie. Always looking out for me.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Steve would have laughed at that lie if it weren’t for the light feeling spreading in his chest. He rubbed his palm across his neck. “Just don’t forget to buy milk.”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Wordlessly Bucky took his backpack off and started sorting through it. A few seconds in, he swore in what sounded like three different languages. They ended up having to return to the Quinjet to recover the arm. Luckily, they weren’t far away and were back on track in under ten minutes.</p><p>It wasn’t long after that that they broke through the thicket of trees onto a well-walked path. Dawn had broken out and the world was slowly showing all the colors it forgot every night. They had barely started down the path when Bucky took one look at Steve and grimaced.</p><p>“Rest,” he said curtly, motioning for Steve to stop.</p><p>“What? I’m fine,” Steve really was fine. As fine as he could be given the situation. Yes, he was breathing hard, pain was shooting through his left side whenever he breathed in, and his right leg was more a nuisance than an asset, but he’d had so much worse.</p><p>Bucky merely shot him a glare, before he took down his backpack and started rummaging inside. He pulled out an isotonic drink and a few small packets of sports jelly. Quick carbohydrates. He handed the drink and one packet to Steve while he opened one himself.</p><p>“The guy was some sort of sports nutcase,” he explained at Steve’s lifted eyebrow.</p><p>“The poor guy will think his gym rival broke into his house and stole all of his equipment.” Steve shook his head with a smile, unscrewed the drink and gratefully drank half of it in a few gulps. He handed the rest to Bucky who took a generous swig as well.</p><p>Bucky ignored his comment, sweeping his eyes down Steve’s body. “Injuries report,” he near demanded and Steve was forcibly reminded that there were years of Bucky’s life unaccounted for, years of his life where people talked to him like this.</p><p>“Cracked ribs on the left side, torn quadriceps muscle and probably a minor concussion,” Steve reported. He had a distinct feeling that Bucky wouldn’t appreciate Steve hiding the extent of his injuries. Not that he ever had, but the reasons were different now, more layered. This went far beyond the simple displeasure of Steve hiding things from him, beyond even the threat of a possible hospital visit. They had to know what they were dealing with to plan accordingly. Besides Bucky wasn’t much better off, but Steve knew he wouldn’t have stopped to rest if he were by himself. Maybe it was better that Steve had obeyed. That way they were both getting rest.</p><p>Bucky nodded, not commenting. Instead, he came out with his own report. “Cracked ribs, too, internal bleeding in the kidney area—nothing severe, the serum’s working on it—sprained ankle and knee.”</p><p>Steve looked at him closely. He was standing perfectly straight, his weight distributed equally on his two legs. “You’re not limping.”</p><p>“I—” Bucky started, then looked away as if ashamed. He swept the remark away with his hand. “Part of the training.”</p><p>“Right,” was all Steve trusted himself to say on the subject. In his mind, he imagined personally ripping off Bucky’s handlers’ limbs. “You don’t need to hide it from me, though. Just so you know.”</p><p>“It’s easier that way,” Bucky busied himself with the backpack, eager for the conversation to end. It felt like an olive branch when he continued with an explanation, “Hurts less when you’re pretending not to feel it. It’s...useful.”</p><p>Steve didn’t doubt that. It didn’t mean he hated it any less.</p><p>“Ok,” he accepted Bucky’s words. He jerked in the direction of the winding path and they set off again. Steve had to admit that the walk was easier now that he’d had something to replenish his body’s waning reserves.</p><p>About fifteen minutes after sunrise they happened upon the first hikers. There were four of them, all middle-aged and, as Steve soon found they spoke decent English.</p><p>“Good morning!” they greeted in unison, the cheery sound so at odds with what Steve was feeling he must have stared at them for a beat too long before answering.</p><p>“Morning,” he answered after Bucky had bid his hello. They had almost passed the group when the two men and two women stopped. <em>Oh no</em>, a chatty bunch.</p><p>“You going down already?” one of the men with silver streaks in his beard asked with a distinct Scandinavian accent. Tourists, Steve cataloged. That was good, the locals were always more suspicious.</p><p>“We camped on the mountain,” Bucky told them with an easy smile, the lines of strain falling away from his face as if <em>they</em> were the mask instead of this pleasant, kind stranger. Steve felt like he’d been slapped when he realized this pleasant and kind stranger was much more like the Bucky Barnes he used to know than the Bucky Barnes now. He immediately felt guilty for even thinking that.</p><p>The tourists nodded and said something about where they were from and where they were going. One woman was looking at them particularly closely. Leaning forward she pointed at their faces with a worried pinch of her eyebrows. “What happened?”</p><p>“We...fell.” Steve tore his mind away from the intrusive thoughts, offering a half-assed explanation.</p><p>“<em>Face first</em>,” Bucky added, as his eyes flicked from Steve and back to the woman.</p><p>The group offered sympathetic smiles, but the conversation ended soon after when Bucky hastily offered an excuse to get going.</p><p>“Face first?” Steve hissed at him when they were far enough. The hiss, however, carried a hysterical quality, heavily tinged with the kind of inappropriate laughter only the most bizarre situations warranted.</p><p>“<em>We fell</em>?” Bucky hissed right back.</p><p>“Well, what was I supposed to say?” Steve threw his hands in the air and regretted it immediately when pain shot down his flank. “A rock fell on us? We were attacked by a wild boar?”</p><p>“I don’t know,” Bucky rolled his eyes, “you could have said we had some weird skin condition.”</p><p>“<em>A skin condition</em>,” Steve said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “How stupid do you think people are?”</p><p>“Very,” Bucky deadpanned.</p><p>
  
</p><p>Steve pretended to think about it for a moment. “Well, they <em>are</em> hiking up the mountain at the buttcrack of dawn, I’ll give you that.”</p><p> </p><p>✩✩✩✩✩✩</p><p> </p><p>“Any idea where we are?” Steve asked once they made it to the road weaving between the bottom of the mountain ridge and the Black Sea. The morning was only just beginning to unravel and the sea was glittering in the sunlight, the sky sporting a few fluffy clouds. It was beautiful.</p><p>“No,” Bucky shook his head. They didn’t have any electronics with them. No phones, no tablets, the danger of being followed was too great, especially now that they landed. “But I know where we have to go.”</p><p>Sevastopol. Bucky had told him earlier that’s where they were going, that the city was their best chance to recover and sink out of existence before, sooner or later, they would be forced to resurface again, especially if their plans of digging further into the events of the past few weeks still held.</p><p>“How far do you think Sevastopol is?” Steve craned his neck looking left and right along the road. They were past the morning rush, but there were a fair few cars passing by.</p><p>“About an hour and a half, maybe two,” Bucky told him and jumped the road fence. The empty sleeve of his missing left arm was shoved into the pocket of his jacket. This time he had no trouble with balance when he landed on the other side. Without even glancing at Steve, he lifted his only arm and put his thumb up.</p><p>Steve looked from Bucky’s thumb to his face to the road in confusion. “We’re <em>hitchhiking</em>?” he asked in disbelief. How did Bucky manage to forget that vital bit of information?</p><p>“It’s at least two hours by car, Steve,” Bucky told him through a forced smile meant to show the passing drivers that he was unthreatening. “If you’d rather walk, it’s about twenty.”</p><p>“Aren’t we supposed to be hiding and laying low?” Steve made air quotes around hiding and laying low, using Bucky’s words from earlier when he’d told Steve his plan. Frankly, Bucky was shit at explaining his plans, Steve had realized in the past few hours. Or rather he really liked to omit things he knew Steve would give him shit about. It had only happened a few times, but Steve was already unnaturally incensed at the injustice. That used to be <em>his</em> modus operandi. <em>He</em> was the one always stringing Bucky along into situations until it was too late for him to say no. The time when he dragged a lazy Bucky to a protest under the pretense of getting ice cream was still fresh in his mind.</p><p>“By all means, if you want to lay low in the woods or a cave, we can turn around and find a nice little lair to lie in.” Bucky smiled harder and waved at the woman driver who passed them. She laughed and waved back but didn’t stop.</p><p>“Could you please fucking look at me when I’m voicing actual strategic problems of our or should I say <em>your</em> plan?” Steve didn’t know why it pissed him off so much, but he <em>was</em> pissed off and he was pissed off <em>a lot</em> and had no desire to tone it down.</p><p>Bucky did look at him, sweeping his eyes down Steve’s body, top to bottom. He tilted his head. “You’re angry because you’re hungry.”</p><p>“Oh my god, I’m not angry because I’m hungry.” Steve threw his hands in the air. “I’m angry because we’re both in this shit and you keep acting like I’m a kid you’re stringing along for a mission.”</p><p>He was a little hungry too.</p><p>Bucky seemed to consider that for a second before he turned his gaze back to the road. “<em>Hangry</em>.”</p><p>“Oh, fuck off.” Steve didn’t know whether to continue fighting or leave it be for now. He knew the Winter Soldier had largely been a lone operative and wasn’t used to considering other people when he was running his missions unless he was the one bossing them around. He also knew that Bucky had gotten used to being alone on the run. All the time in the world and he spent practically every minute by himself in a small apartment in Bucharest. A well lived-in apartment. An apartment where he had stopped running and had started <em>living</em>. Without Steve. Steve, who despite trying not to, had been losing his hope along with his sanity for the past two years. Bucky hadn’t wanted to be found and it stung more than Steve was prepared to admit.</p><p>“Stop with the glowering,” Bucky grumbled through his plastered-on grin, “you’re scaring off our potential rides with that attitude.”</p><p>Steve wanted to punch that stupid saccharine smile off his face.</p><p>They got a ride about fifteen minutes later when a middle-aged woman on her way to a meeting stopped her car and waved them inside.</p><p>“Hi guys,” she greeted cheerfully and told them to throw all the junk she had on the back seats onto the passenger seat. Her English was slightly accented but otherwise impeccable.</p><p>“Hi, thank you so much for the ride,” Bucky said with an easy smile. Steve frowned. Bucky’s English had become accented too.</p><p>“Where are you two going?” The woman—Svetlana, they soon learned—was an easy-going person. Her open gestures and unruly hair contrasted with the severe business clothes she was wearing. Steve felt like he was watching one of those hippies stuffed into a suit.</p><p>“Sevastopol,” Steve told her, trying for a friendly smile himself.</p><p>Svetlana nodded, her brown curls bobbing along cheerily, as she confirmed they got the right person because she was going there herself. She started the car and turned the music up. Steve thought that would save them from conversing and started to relax. Instead, Svetlana shouted over the noise.</p><p>“So!” She threw a quick look at them over her shoulder. “Where are you from?”</p><p>“Germany!” Bucky yelled back, but the way he pronounced it sounded more like <em>Chermany</em>.</p><p>Steve raised his eyebrows at him and mouthed, “<em>Really</em>?” Bucky raised his eyebrows right back but continued chatting.</p><p>Steve shook his head and remained quiet for most of the ride. He spoke German fairly well, but he couldn’t pull off a decent German accent if his life depended on it. Bucky, although sporting a fairly dramatic German accent, was doing a pretty good job, so Steve sunk into his seat and closed his eyes. He didn’t drift off, he wasn’t able to. Adrenaline had been coursing through his body ever since they walked into that Soviet facility and it hadn’t stopped. In a way, that was familiar, the same endless state of alertness he’d felt during the war, where, as soon as they had shipped out on location, his body jumped gears, and it stayed like that through the mission and all the way back until they made it to camp and made his reports to Phillips. It was only when he’d entered his tent that the tension seeped out of him and bone-deep weariness set in as he crashed onto the hard army mattress. Passed-out from exhaustion had been the only good sleep he’d got that year, so he always welcomed it with open arms.</p><p>In a little under two hours, they arrived to the outskirts of the city. They were first met with rows upon rows of houses, a trademark of a city that was free to spread out, unconfined by natural obstacles or an overwhelmingly large population. There were restaurants by the road, shops that looked like small DIY stores, and garden centers. Their driver dropped them off at the edge of <em>Leninskiy rayon</em>, which Steve took for a district of Sevastopol. They got out on a parking lot in front of a small pet food shop that Steve only recognized as such for the numerous cat and dog photos in the windows. He should really brush up on his Cyrillic.</p><p>As they watched the woman’s car disappear, Steve finally felt free to speak.</p><p>“I forgot,” he said, eyes trained on the corner where the blue car had disappeared.</p><p>“Forgot what?” From the calm way with which Bucky said it, it was clear he knew Steve wasn’t talking about forgetting something in the Quinjet.</p><p>“How good you always were with accents,” Steve told him, unable to hide the small wistful smile.</p><p>“Oh.” The expression on Bucky’s face softened imperceptibly and a smile tugged at the corner of his lip. “Was a bit mean about it, though.”</p><p>“Nah,” Steve shook his head, “it was funny. I know my ma loved it when you tried to do her Irish accent. She kept telling you ‘almost there, almost there’. I’m pretty sure she just didn’t want to admit that you nailed it.”</p><p>Bucky frowned as if trying to recall the memories. Then he nodded. Bucky seemed to remember enough details about their life in Brooklyn to make Steve fear about all the things he <em>didn’t</em> remember. There were more questions in their past than there were answers and Steve wasn’t sure he was ready for those conversations.</p><p>“Remember when old Giovanni heard you imitating him,” Steve said, rather than dwell on his thoughts.</p><p>Bucky groaned next to him. “God, I wanted to die.”</p><p>“He loved it.” Steve was quietly laughing at the memory. “He made you imitate him every time you saw him, he found it so entertaining. I remember you standing in front of the building for fifteen minutes, talking in an obnoxiously loud voice, waving your hands while Giovanni wheezed beside you. You had to practically escape him or he’d never have let you go.”</p><p>Bucky nodded along. “Yeah, it came to a point that whenever I talked to him I couldn’t even turn off the Italian accent.”</p><p>They lapsed into silence after that, caught in the impression of a common memory. Steve couldn’t help but glance at Bucky. <em>He had his best friend back.</em></p><p>“I think we should get a motel or an apartment or something,” Bucky finally said, squinting at the glaring sunlight. It was early spring so the weather was still fairly chilly, but the sun was high in the sky announcing the hot summer months to come. “Someplace that’s a bit more beat up where they won’t ask for our documents. We need the trace behind us to go cold.”</p><p>“We don’t have any money,” Steve pointed out.</p><p>“Where do you think I was for so long during the night?” Bucky pulled the strap of the backpack on his left shoulder towards his neck. It kept slipping off the metal stump.</p><p>“You stole money? From people’s houses?” Steve felt guilty at the mere thought of it. Logically, he knew they would have to steal to get by, but did they really have to steal from those poor people who worked hard every day, supporting their families and barely getting by as it was? The warmth that had settled over him during their heartfelt exchange was slipping away fast. Nothing could ever be simple between the two of them.</p><p>“Yup,” Bucky pursed his lips, unconcerned. This was the training talking again, the <em>do what you must at all costs</em> motto that Steve had learned the Winter Soldier operated on. “I had to break into a lot of them too. People don’t store money in their socks as much as they used to back in the day.”</p><p>“Okay,” Steve sighed. Bucky had a point. But they needed to do better in the future. “Okay. But we’re not stealing from civilians again.”</p><p>Bucky rolled his eyes. “It’s not like it’s my first time doing it.”</p><p>“I know, but we can do better than…” Steve trailed off. They could do better than <em>Hydra</em>.</p><p>“Before that,” Bucky said. There was no mistaking the hardness in his voice.</p><p>Steve opened his mouth but closed it again.</p><p>“You can stop pretending you didn’t know.” Bucky turned to face him fully and Steve finally noticed the defensive stiffness of his body. The last of the warmth Steve had felt earlier was blown away as if by a gust of wind. “It’s not cute anymore.”</p><p>Steve didn’t know what to say. He...had suspected back then. The way they managed to get his medicine even though they hadn’t been able to put food on the table for a week. The way Bucky got shifty when Steve had asked. The way Steve had been all too willing to turn a blind eye on it if it helped ease the chronic pain during the night. Their memories might include funny anecdotes about Giovanni and Bucky’s unlikely friendship, but they’d grown up in tough times, and tough times made for tough choices which made for tough memories.</p><p>Bucky fixed him with a final stare before he turned around and started walking. Steve only just caught the words, “We’re doing whatever the hell we gotta do.”</p><p>A pronounced Brooklyn twang colored the grumbled sentence. Despite the annoyance, Steve would have smiled if he didn’t feel uneasiness crawling up his spine. It wasn’t quite shame but it was close. The weight of everything Bucky had done for him had sat on his shoulders all his life. He knew he wouldn’t have made it past fifteen if it weren’t for Bucky and it looked like nothing had changed—decades along the line Bucky was still saving his ass.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>If you like the fic, reblog this <a href="https://synonym-for-life.tumblr.com/post/637779254866837504/a-hat-a-horse-a-hyundai-and-the-will-to-ride">Tumblr post</a> or this <a href="https://twitter.com/anotherstuckybb/status/1339754748350767104">Twitter post</a> to spread the word! :*</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Setting Up Camp</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The UST sneaks in and the emotional tension continues to rise! After years apart our boys are struggling to say the least.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Again, thank you to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/need_more_meta">need_more_meta</a> for her help with Russian and for telling me that  Ukranians, to my great delight, also make coffee in <em>cezve</em> pots!</p><p>Hover over the two words in Cyrillic to see them written in the Latin script and to see the translation.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They found their apartment after spotting a half-erased sign <em><span>Апартаменты</span></em> on the facade of an old condominium complex. The area wasn’t dingy per se, but the park near the building was slightly grown in and the streets were less clean. The bars next to the apartment building were less flashy and more uninviting than the ones they’d seen before: clearly places meant for locals, not tourists. Steve and Bucky stuck out like a sore thumb, the eyes of the people smoking in front of the tiny cafes trailing after them. It was only Bucky’s flawless Russian and his casual lie about how he was born in France to Russian parents that got them the information about the owner of the apartment.</p><p>“Don’t talk,” Bucky warned him while they were waiting for the owner to come to the entrance of the building. “Or if you do talk, speak English but with a French accent. They probably won’t be able to tell.”</p><p>“I do speak Russian, you know,” Steve didn’t think Bucky had forgotten, but he felt the need to remind him again.</p><p>“Yes, with an American accent.” Bucky threw him a serious look. “It’s a great asset and I’m sure it’ll come in handy, but...they could hear <em>my</em> accent, except that they made fun of me being a Moscow guy. It’s better if you pretend you’re French.”</p><p>“Right, because everyone hates Americans.” Steve sighed and added, “Not that I blame them.”</p><p>Bucky shrugged, unfazed. “On the East, even people who don’t sympathize with Russia are hardly going to be won over by an American.”</p><p>He looked into the foyer through the dirty glass. There was a dark figure slowly descending the stairs while it clutched to the rail.</p><p>“Always remember that if, for the Slavs, Russia is the worst,” Bucky threw him a sideways glance, “America is worse.”</p><p>A few seconds later, a frail woman with a face riddled with wrinkles, and a kerchief tied under her chin opened the door. The smile she gave them was missing a few teeth, but it was the most genuine one Steve had seen in days.</p><p><em><span>“хлопцы!”</span></em> she said and reached up to their faces, patting their cheeks with her knobbly fingers. Bucky visibly stiffened and Steve was too shocked to react with anything other than a blink. “I heard you want to rent my apartment. Excellent, excellent.”</p><p>Bucky visibly forced himself to unstiffen his muscles and call up a smile on his face. He introduced them (apparently Steve was <em>Pierre</em> now and, really, Bucky was going to hear it about that one, it wasn’t like every French guy was named <em>Pierre</em>) and Steve politely accepted a few more cheek pats with a couple mumbled answering words all accented on the last syllable. He hoped that would pass for a French accent because if not he was doomed.</p><p>The woman waved them in and they made their way to a small apartment, not unlike the one Bucky had had in Bucharest. The only difference was that the bed actually had a frame and the windows weren’t taped over with newspaper. She showed them around, then shuffled to her apartment across the hall for some towels and clean bedsheets. What she came back with was much more than just sheets and towels. In a big bag, swaying by her hip, there were also bread, eggs, ham, cheese, apples and coffee.</p><p>“No, no,” Steve said, then corrected himself, “non! You don’t, euh, need to.”</p><p>The old woman glared at him and thrust the sheets and towels along with the bag at his chest with surprising strength. She pointed at Bucky then back at Steve and told them, in more or less these exact words, that they looked like a pile of cow shit and smelled it too. She then pointed at the shower, patted Steve’s cheek again and shuffled out of the apartment.</p><p>Steve stared at the door dumbly, the pile of sheets, towels and food in his arms. He looked around as if for an explanation about how someone could be so aggressively lovely and rude at the same time. Bucky was stood next to the fridge snickering at Steve’s dumbfounded expression.</p><p>“Oh, shut up,” Steve told him, dropped the pile onto the bed and, a towel in hand, marched into the small bathroom.</p><p> </p><p>✩✩✩✩✩✩</p><p> </p><p>They slept for twenty hours the first night. The previous afternoon they’d eaten half of the food the lady gave them and then dropped straight into bed, gone as soon as their heads hit the pillows. Steve woke up in the same position he’d fallen asleep in, hours upon hours later, but instead of feeling stiff like any normal person would, he felt invigorated. His ribs still ached and his thigh felt tight in one place, but the serum had done its job remarkably well. His face was almost completely healed, the only witness of the fight a thin pink scar on his lip. Bucky looked better too, the cuts on his face were gone and his skin was less ashen. He confirmed to Steve that the internal bleeding he’d experienced was gone.</p><p>Bucky slipped out that evening with the promise of food and came back an hour later with six boxes of pizza. Barely talking, they ate all of them then fell back asleep only taking a minute to wash their hands. They skipped the shower, the exhaustion of the past week setting in again. It wasn’t until two days later that Steve was able to say he felt as good as ever.</p><p>With his body recovered, he had more time to think—an unfortunate side effect of being healthy. The thing that occupied his thoughts practically all the time was Bucky.</p><p>He was hard to read. He was a lot quieter than Steve remembered, even when compared to the dark moods he was so often sucked into during the war, but he also didn’t seem to be brooding. Steve hated to admit it, but it looked like the two years alone had done him well. He was sure of himself like he’d always been, cocky sometimes, but charmingly so. He was so well-adjusted that it shocked Steve when he would sometimes suddenly stop what he was doing and stare ahead with empty eyes as if he had been carried far away. When he snapped out of it and saw Steve, he seemed almost surprised to see him there. On more than one occasion, Steve reached out with his hand, wanting to do something, but he always let it drop before Bucky noticed.</p><p>Steve was almost glad when Bucky got frustrated trying to open a can with his remaining arm one day. Steve had been noticing the missing arm had been bothering Bucky, the inability to do simple tasks quickly getting him more and more annoyed. He’d seen Bucky push that frustration down almost mechanically. As if he didn’t deserve to express his emotions, as if all he was allowed to be was stoic. Steve was actually relieved when that can had flown across the room, accompanied by an angry “Fuck!”.</p><p>Bucky never asked Steve for help. When one of his boots got unlaced he tried and tried to tie them over and over again, glaring at Steve whenever he opened his mouth to offer. Bucky had always been stubborn, he’d also always been used to solving all of his problems by himself, but then again every New Yorker was like that. But while Steve would often refuse Bucky’s help when offered because, as often proved, he was the more stubborn one of the two, Bucky never refused his and Steve was at a loss for what to do.</p><p>That was why he was near ecstatic when, one afternoon Bucky came out of the tiny bathroom, and shoved a plastic bag and an elastic at Steve.</p><p>“Fine,” he said with a deep frown, “you can help.”</p><p>He motioned at his stump and it was only then that Steve noticed Bucky was naked to the waist. He had been about to take a shower and had trouble with covering the stump. Steve stepped closer and carefully started wrapping the bag around the metal, his eyes flicking to layers upon layers of scars where skin met metal. Steve had seen the Winter Soldier photos, had seen Bucky dehumanized, naked and shivering on those photos but nothing could have prepared him for the duality of his reaction. Bucky’s left shoulder was basically one massive scar. The skin was raised and white, with numerous precise white scars running from it, a deep one running along his collarbone. Either the serum hadn’t been able to heal the scars or that were pried open over and over again while healing. Steve didn’t think he could stomach knowing if that was the case. There was a scar or two along Bucky’s right flank too, one jagged that bore witness to torn skin and one clean.</p><p>What Steve wasn’t prepared for was—and he felt queasy at the thought of what that said about him—the beauty of it. He knew Bucky had received a version of the serum similar to his, he knew Bucky was as big and muscular as he was, had <em>felt it</em> while being on the receiving end of his blows. No knowledge could have prepared him for his body’s involuntary reaction. His mouth went dry and his eyes lingered on the scars, mapping them, marveling at the proof of the strength that came from them. The proof of survival. He fumbled with the bag, averting his eyes, trying not to show how shaken he was. He used to know Bucky’s body. The strong, lean limbs, the long line of his neck, the softness of his belly. It was different now, but no less beautiful.</p><p>Bucky pretended not to notice Steve’s awkwardness and opted for staring out of the window. When he disappeared to the bathroom, Steve sunk back into the chair. Discomfort churned in his stomach, spurred on by the layers upon layers of feelings they’d never put a name to. Feelings that still churned away just as they did in the moldy, rickety apartment with morning sunlight streaming through the curtains in the kitchen, illuminating Bucky’s sleepy figure behind the table as he clutched the cup of coffee as if his life depended on it, his hair curling around his ears above his naked shoulders.</p><p>Steve hadn’t been a stranger to this new world for a long time, but as he sat there, he felt like he was going to sink right back into their apartment on Quincy street, the past pulling him down by his ankles, making him fall, fall, fall.”</p><p> </p><p>✩✩✩✩✩✩</p><p> </p><p>Steve woke up to Bucky watching him from his side of the bed. He blinked the sleep from his eyes and stretched. Bucky didn’t look away, he continued staring, his expression unreadable, and Steve’s heartbeat picked up under Bucky’s scrutiny.</p><p>“What?” he croaked, his voice still stiff from sleep.</p><p>“Nothin’.” Bucky shook his head, but he didn’t seem to be able to look away entirely.</p><p>“It’s obviously something,” Steve probed.</p><p>“Your face didn’t use to look like that.” He frowned when he said it, as if matching his memories with what he was seeing in front of him. “But your eyes are the same. Zemo was right. A bit of green in your blue eyes. I remember. It was always there.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Steve swallowed, “yeah, it was.”</p><p>“It’s not a flaw,” Bucky looked annoyed when he said it. He rolled over, pushing himself up with his hand to sit on the edge of the bed. “He was wrong about that.”</p><p>“Bucky…” Steve didn’t know what he wanted to say, but his voice was hoarse and this time it wasn’t from sleeping.</p><p>“It was my favorite thing about you,” Bucky’s gaze was directed at his feet, his voice distant, an echo of the past, “I just remembered.”</p><p>“I didn’t know that,” Steve spoke past the thick lump in his throat, feeling suspended in the air as if he was floating in a quantum field, where any reality could become real, where this situation could turn any which way.</p><p>“I never said.” Bucky shrugged as if it didn’t matter and stood up. It mattered. It mattered so much that all Steve could think about was how much it mattered. Because he still had the green in the blue of his eyes.</p><p><em>Is it still?</em> he wanted to ask. <em>Is it still your favorite thing about me?</em> He stayed quiet. What if the answer was no?</p><p> </p><p>✩✩✩✩✩✩</p><p> </p><p>Steve slipped back to sleep and woke up half an hour later to the smell of coffee and the sight of Bucky behind the stove, making them breakfast. Steve’s stomach grumbled as he rolled over, sitting up at the edge of the bed. Bucky heard him, his hearing even sharper than Steve’s was, or at least trained to pick up every and any rustle and stir.</p><p>“Coffee?” he asked without turning around. He didn’t even wait for an answer before pouring Steve a cup out of the traditional <em>cezve</em> pot, adding a generous splash of milk. He had learned in the past few days that Steve’s taste for coffee had changed from black and sweet like he took it in Brooklyn, to milky but bitter. When Steve had first told him, Bucky froze, staring at him in confusion, then immediately turned around to take the milk out of the fridge. That action alone left Steve feeling guilty over how Bucky seemed to embrace the small ways in which Steve had changed when Steve dwelled on every minute change in Bucky.</p><p>Bucky walked over, handing him the cup. His eyes lingered on Steve, but when Steve raised a questioning eyebrow, he shook his head and walked back to the stove. He popped the cut up slices of ham into the hot pan.</p><p>Steve didn’t plan to, but when he glanced between the lukewarm coffee in his hands and Bucky’s back, the words slipped out by themselves.</p><p>“Two years.”</p><p>“Hmm?” was the only acknowledgment Bucky gave.</p><p>“I looked for you for two years.” Steve did a piss-poor job at masking the pain that sneaked into his voice.</p><p>Bucky paused, spatula mid-air, then resumed pushing the slices of ham around the pan.</p><p>“<em>Sam</em> was looking for me,” he said almost cheerily. “<em>You</em> were busy bringing justice to the world.”</p><p>Silence fell between them as a familiar prickle of anger crackled to life in Steve’s sternum. Quietly but clearly, he spoke. “I looked for you for a full year. Every. Single. Fucking. Day. Until I thought I’d go crazy. Natasha saved my goddamn mind by bringing me back on the missions.”</p><p>“Well,” Bucky’s tone was still breezy, but there was stiffness in his movements that Steve didn’t miss. He paused, before he continued, “Guess I wasn’t the only one going crazy.”</p><p>Steve bowed his head. He wanted to bury his face in his hands, but he didn’t think he deserved to be that dramatic when Bucky was stoically preparing them breakfast.</p><p>“I know,” Steve said instead, swallowing around the lump in his throat. “I won’t pretend I understand. I’ll never understand what—what you went through. I just...wanted to help. I wanted—I wanted to be there for you.”</p><p>Slowly, Bucky turned, the spatula poised in mid-air again. “Have you considered that your presence <em>wouldn’t</em> have helped? That you being 'there for me’ would make it worse?”</p><p>Steve swallowed, bitterness coating his mouth. Countless times, <em>countless times,</em> he had wondered the same thing in the dark of the night when old memories didn’t let him sleep. What if he wasn’t good for Bucky? What if it was better for Bucky to move on without him? Of course, he didn't know how much Bucky remembered, he didn’t know what state Bucky was in. It was the first time in the new world that Steve had knelt by his bed, intertwining the fingers of his hands as he set the elbows on the bedding, and prayed. Prayed for Bucky to remember him, prayed for Bucky to be well, mentally and physically, and sometimes, when he couldn’t stop himself from being selfish, he prayed for Bucky to come home.</p><p>And then Steve stepped into Bucky’s apartment in Bucharest, dark and banged up as it was, and the most painful thought sneaked into Steve’s mind: maybe Bucky was home right there in Romania, with the beat-up radio on the shelf, dirty kitchen towels beside the sink, and chocolate wrappers on the fridge. Home, without Steve.</p><p>“Am I making it worse now?” Steve’s voice was so quiet he wasn’t sure he’d even meant for Bucky to hear it.</p><p>Bucky’s hand dropped to his side, the ham on the stove behind him sizzling. Instantly, his eyes lost the fight in them.</p><p>“No.” He looked at the floor and shook his head slightly. “No, you’re not making it worse.”</p><p>Steve’s chest untightened at Bucky’s words, a lighter weight settling onto his shoulders. A welcome weight. Relief.</p><p>Bucky turned back to the small gas stove and grumbled, “You made me burn the bacon.”</p><p>Just like that, they were back to normal, even though Bucky’s voice was thicker when he said his words and Steve had to blink fast a few times to keep the stinging of his eyes to mere stinging.</p><p> </p><p>✩✩✩✩✩✩</p><p> </p><p>In the way things of habit usually were, living with Bucky was almost heartbreakingly easy.</p><p>Bucky made breakfast, Steve made dinner, they both complained when the other burned something but ate it anyway because they’d never quite gotten rid of the feeling that throwing food away was a crime of the first order. It was habit, the way they bickered over who would shower first, or the way, when one of them would make coffee or tea, it would always be enough to fill two cups. Even waking up next to Bucky had been as normal as it had ever been. They’d slept in the same bed for years before the war and even though they always kept to their end of the bed—even after they’d—even when—the knowledge of a warm body on the other side had always relaxed them. It was no different now. Hearing Bucky’s steady breaths, feeling the warmth radiating from his side, lulled Steve into a sense of homely comfort that he thought he’d left behind forever.</p><p>It wasn’t all easy though, it never had been, not really, but it had been nothing to the obvious storm of emotions raging inside of them now. Steve, for one, couldn’t keep from staring at Bucky’s empty sleeve, guilt that went too deep to pinpoint where it began and ended, twisting in his gut. Every time Bucky turned too fast, losing balance, Steve jumped towards him from wherever he was standing or sitting. Bucky always righted himself in the next second after his stumble and they both ignored Steve’s jumpiness. The thing was, Steve didn’t know how to take care of him and it ate him up inside. Bucky had always been the one taking care of Steve, both in big and small ways. Whether it was patching up his wounds or cooking him a warm chicken soup when he heard Steve’s voice getting croaky, it had always been Bucky worrying about Steve’s afflictions and Steve batting his attentions away with one feeble feverish arm.</p><p>Bucky had said he wasn’t making things worse, but that didn’t mean he was making things better and he wanted to, he wanted to make things better, as good as they could be. But he didn’t know how, so he was left wringing his hands like a panicky mother on the inside and pretending everything was peachy on the outside, while barely containing his excitement when Bucky finally let him help.</p><p>“Tomorrow, I’m going to pay a visit to a few of my contacts here,” Bucky said one evening when Steve had started nodding off at the sound of the beaten-up radio they’d put on. He missed his phone, he missed TV, he missed the internet, even though it was a godforsaken place with godforsaken content and godforsaken people. He stirred slowly until the words sunk in and then he was wide awake.</p><p>“What contacts?”</p><p>“People who can get us the equipment we need. Bugs, night vision goggles, burner phones. High tech stuff. It won’t rival Stark’s but it’s the best we can get.”</p><p>“Where do you know these people from?” Steve narrowed his eyes in suspicion.</p><p>Bucky visibly steeled himself, before saying, “Ex Hydra contractors.”</p><p>“<em>Really?</em>” Steve did <em>not</em> like the sound of that.</p><p>“I knew you wouldn’t like it,” Bucky sighed.</p><p>“Of course, I don’t like it.” The Winter Soldier files flashed in front of Steve’s eyes, the graphic descriptions of sleep deprivation, of experiments, of plain sadism that they called ‘pain level testing’.</p><p>“Listen, I know this goes against your morals and values—” Bucky put up a placating hand.</p><p>“That’s not it, I mean, yes, that is it too,” Steve got confused with Bucky’s line of reasoning for a second, “but also no. I don’t want you near them. I don’t want you near any of them ever again.”</p><p>“Oh.” Bucky’s placating hand fell to his knee.</p><p>“Well...yeah.” Steve tried saying something that wouldn’t sound stupid but then gave up on the sentence altogether. What more could he say? He rubbed the back of his neck which felt very hot all of a sudden.</p><p>“These people never...hurt me,” Bucky said, hesitating on the last two words. “They were contractors who helped with missions, provided intel and equipment when it wasn’t possible to bring it with.”</p><p>Steve stayed silent mulling it through. He didn’t like it but they also didn’t have much of a choice. If what Bucky was saying was true, getting in contact with these people might not be too bad. It probably wouldn’t trigger Bucky and Steve wouldn’t have to go through a whole palette of rage. It sounded like a good deal. They needed the equipment if they were going to start digging into the Zemo issue.</p><p>“What if they rat us out?”</p><p>“They won’t,” Bucky said with a smile that bore witness to wry amusement.</p><p>“How can you be sure?” Getting caught by Russian authorities was high on the list of worst-case scenarios that Steve didn’t care to explore.</p><p>“Because they’re scared shittless of me.” Bucky’s mouth curled into a smile void of any real amusement and that was the end of the conversation.</p><p>Bucky’s confidence in the breeziness of their upcoming task didn’t transfer into the night. Steve was woken up suddenly, his body stiffening as his eyes flew open, ready to grab, punch or shove, at an intruder. There was none. It was Bucky, restlessly thrashing with his head, his breaths coming out deep but ragged, as he clutched at the bedding on his right as if trying to keep his body completely still, except for the head. Nightmares were bound to happen between the two of them. They were lucky that their brain had let them recover before assaulting them during the night.</p><p>Steve knew he shouldn’t wake Bucky up. If Bucky was anything like him, Steve would have Bucky’s hand around his throat in a second. Sam had learned that the hard way. Steve had given him a shiner that didn’t disappear for two weeks.</p><p>Nevertheless, Steve quietly called out into the darkness, “Bucky, pal, wake up.”</p><p>There was no response. Steve didn’t touch him. He couldn’t know what Bucky was dreaming or possibly reliving and he could only make it worse with that. So he watched as Bucky’s mouth twisted and his hair got more and more sweaty, plastering itself over his forehead and his cheeks. Steve kept whispering Bucky’s name every few seconds, hoping it would slowly pull him out of the nightmare. He couldn’t say whether it worked or not, but slowly Bucky’s thrashing calmed down and his breathing, although heavy, became less raspy. He didn’t immediately open his eyes but Steve knew he was awake when he brushed the sweaty strands out of his mouth. Steve turned his gaze away, settling it onto the ceiling. He could barely make out where the darkness ended and the white plaster began.</p><p>“I woke you up,” Bucky spoke up after a while, shifting.</p><p>“It’s okay,” Steve whispered. He didn’t know why, but it felt wrong to speak loudly. “It was bound to happen. It’ll probably be me waking you up tomorrow.”</p><p>Steve only hoped he wouldn’t dream about Bucky falling from the train. In his dreams, he never re-lived it the way it had happened. He’d dreamed a hundred different variations of it, all of which ended up in the worst failure of his life; watching Bucky fall and break and, in the past two years, watch as he <em>was broken,</em> whether by Hydra, by crows pecking at him, by wolves ripping him, whatever horror Steve’s mind came up with, Bucky got hurt over and over again, while all Steve could do was watch from beyond an ice curtain.</p><p>“Yeah,” was all Bucky said in reply and the silence of the night fell over them again. Steve was glad Bucky hadn’t apologized; there was nothing to apologize for and he was glad Bucky knew it. It’s how their lives were now, and that was that.</p><p>After another minute of listening to the faint cluttering and clanging of the building, neither of them was falling asleep.</p><p>“Tell me,” Steve said, voice finally above a whisper.</p><p>“About the nightmare?” Bucky’s head moved and Steve felt him staring at his profile.</p><p>“No. I mean yes, whatever you want. Anything.” Steve had spent so long thinking about it, had spent so many days imagining it, seeing it through a thousand different points of views, building a film around the photos from Bucky’s file that he’d started feeling like he was stealing the story from Bucky, like he’d been writing over Bucky’s voice with his own imagination.</p><p>“Not the dream.” The pillow rustled as Bucky shook his head slightly. He, too, turned his eyes to the ceiling, staring at the darkness, hoping perhaps that it would make the words easier. After a long pause, Bucky continued, “Sometimes, I think they made me better.”</p><p>Steve waited for Bucky to continue, trying to pretend this confession hadn’t swallowed up his breath.</p><p>“They trained me to be the best, and I was—am—the best. I can fight, I can ignore the pain, they made me resilient.” Bucky’s fingers twitched against the bedding. “They broke me, they changed me forever, and sometimes I still think to myself, maybe it was for the best.”</p><p>“I—” Steve wanted to say that that would have only been possible if Bucky hadn’t already been perfect before, but he stopped himself. It could be taken the wrong way.</p><p>“You don’t have to say anything,” Bucky saved him. There was a heaviness in his voice that Steve could only associate with guilt. “I don’t know how to feel about it either. And I—”</p><p>He turned his head again, looking at Steve. “Steve, I don’t hate the skills I have, I don’t hate what I’m capable of doing as long as I don’t do it. I hate how they did it, I hate what they made me do, but I don’t...hate who they’ve made me be. I live in this in-between space, hating myself and, at the same time...not.”</p><p>“I wanna kill them all,” Steve confessed, out of the blue perhaps, but that’s what he was thinking and what he’d been thinking ever since he found Bucky in Bucharest. They’d tried to eliminate Hydra, but he knew, somewhere, in some hole, in some cave, there were more because those bastards never died.</p><p>“You did a pretty good job of it, to be honest,” Bucky’s voice was colored with amusement, but there was a tinge of sadness there that Steve probably wouldn’t have caught onto had it not been dark and had he been distracted by looking at Bucky’s face, so practiced in hiding emotions.</p><p>“I don’t want you to hate yourself,” Steve returned to the previous topic. This wasn’t about him.</p><p>“I don’t want you to hate yourself either but here you are,” Bucky threw it back at him way too quickly for Steve’s comfort. He opened his mouth to argue, but Bucky was faster. “Don’t even try. Since forever, Steve. You were always so hard on yourself.”</p><p>Steve huffed in response. He didn’t <em>hate himself.</em> He merely deeply disliked his shortcomings and guilt-tripped himself even years after he did something that wasn’t enough. Somehow, throughout all his life, it was never enough. <em>He</em> was never enough. He didn’t want to argue, though, this conversation wasn’t about him, no matter how much Bucky wanted to turn it that way. Steve stayed quiet and the silence stretched between them like an itchy new quilt, not wholly uncomfortable, but not homely either.</p><p>“I’ll never be normal,” Bucky said after they’d both lost themselves in their own thoughts. Despite being barely audible, it sounded like a warning.</p><p>“You don’t seem abnormal to me,” Seve answered, chancing a look sideways. Bucky was no longer staring at him, but was, instead, contemplating something in the far corner of the ceiling.</p><p>“That’s because you were always weird as hell.” Bucky grimaced, but a smile tugged at the right corner of his lip. Steve laughed.</p><p>“Can’t argue that.”</p><p> </p><p>✩✩✩✩✩✩</p><p> </p><p>The next morning was a stiff affair, the nightmare still fresh in both their minds. It didn’t get any better when Steve, naively, perhaps, asked, “What should I take with me?” and Bucky paused, looking at him like he thought Steve had been dropped on his head one too many times as a toddler.</p><p>“Oh, no,” Steve immediately clocked onto Bucky’s thoughts. Indignation made him stand up straighter and taller as he scowled at his best friend. “No fucking way. I’m not staying here. No, nope, nuh-huh.”</p><p>Distantly, Steve thought about how he’d obviously spent too much time with Tony if this was what he sounded like now, but Tony was another thing on the list of things he didn’t want to think about so he ignored it.</p><p>“Steve…” Bucky said in that I-will-try-to-reason-with-you-even-though-I’m-doomed-to-fail voice that Steve knew all too well.</p><p>“No,” Steve told him and it was final. “I’m coming with you.”</p><p>Bucky closed his eyes briefly as if considering the pros and cons of arguing further. He was smart enough to know it wouldn’t get them anywhere.</p><p>“Fine,” he gave in, “but you’re doing exactly as I say.”</p><p>“Only if I think it’s a good idea,” Steve countered just to be a bit of a dick.</p><p>“<em>Even if</em> you think the idea was designed specifically to spite you.” Bucky pointed at him with his finger to make a point.</p><p>“That makes it sound like what you have in mind could be very dangerous to my sense of dignity.”</p><p>The wicked smile that Bucky threw him almost made Steve reconsider. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to stay in the apartment. God knows what Bucky was planning on having them do. Too bad for Bucky, Steve had always been all in, no matter how ridiculous the idea. It was only a few minutes and a bit of rummaging in Bucky’s backpack later that Steve realized the danger didn’t lie in what Bucky would have them <em>do</em> but what he would have them <em>wear</em>.</p><p>With a winning smile, Bucky pulled out a pile of dark blue clothes that looked as if they were made from nylon. They made a shushing sound when they moved. Bucky threw them at Steve who caught them with wide eyes. The clothes had long white lines along the outer edges. It was an Adidas tracksuit. An old Adidas tracksuit.</p><p>“No,” Steve said again. He was repeating himself a lot today.</p><p>“Yes.” Bucky gave him a shit-eating grin.</p><p>“No,” Steve said more firmly.</p><p>“Yes.” Bucky’s grin got wider.</p><p>They stared at each other, Steve glowering and Bucky gloating.</p><p>“Ugh,” Steve gave in, barely curbing the urge to kick the table leg. Bucky was doing this on purpose. But if that’s what the game was… Steve could deal with looking like an idiot. In fact, he would look so much like an idiot that it would seem like he was goddamn born to do it. He dropped the pile of clothes onto the nearest creaky chair and, looking straight into Bucky’s eyes, unzipped his jeans and dropped them to the floor. “<em>Fine.</em>”</p><p>The self-satisfied grin on Bucky’s face wavered as his eyes involuntarily flicked down. Steve was glad he was only wearing socks or he would have looked ridiculous trying to wrangle his shoes out of the jeans. When he stepped out of them, he grabbed the tracksuit pants and, still maintaining eye-contact with Bucky whose eyes kept flitting back and forth, pulled them on. That was when Bucky came back to himself. Steve couldn’t help smirking. It was nice to know he could still get a reaction like that out of him. Even if Steve had never known how to handle it, a hot flame flickered in his belly, making him smirk.</p><p>“Wait.” Bucky cleared his throat. “Don’t put them on yet.”</p><p>Steve’s eyebrows shot up. He tried to keep the confident smirk on his face but it was waging a hard battle with the flush that had started creeping up his neck. He wondered if Bucky could tell. If he remembered. And, if he didn’t, could he draw the conclusions from the way Steve couldn’t stop his own eyes from lingering.</p><p>“Any other urgent matters to attend to?” Steve asked and he could have smacked himself for the lack of tact. <em>Jesus H. Christ, what was he doing?</em></p><p>Bucky froze, his eyes flying to Steve’s. They never—they’d <em>never</em> talked about it. Not like that. Bucky averted his eyes. “Not your lucky day, Rogers.”</p><p>The flame in Steve’s gut burned hot and cold at once. The air was thick around them—awkwardness charged with electric tension—a product of decades of emotions they hadn’t been able to handle.</p><p>Bucky cleared his throat after Steve didn’t say anything. “Strap the thigh holsters first. Take at least one gun and two knives. The smallest ones, strap them high on your thighs, they can’t be visible on the outside. They’ll tap us down but not...there.”</p><p>The sentence hung in the air gracelessly.</p><p>“Right,” Steve shook himself out of his stupor.</p><p>They both did as Bucky said, strapping the small weapons to their thighs. Bucky struggled with his one arm, but Steve didn’t dare offer his help. He managed to do it himself, by sitting down on the straps and Steve pretended like nothing unusual was going on on the chair that kept creaking and whose user kept cursing. They donned the tracksuits, identical ones, and Bucky gave Steve what he called a quick Spy 101. They had to blend in with the area until they got to their contacts. They would recognize Bucky, but if they were lucky they wouldn’t recognize Steve. Bucky hadn’t let Steve shave his scruff, so he was sporting a rather unkempt beard. His hair was a bit longer and Bucky got him to slick it back which made Steve feel like old Giuseppe's grandson Carlo whose slick black hair was always combed back with extreme precision. He always had a toothpick in his mouth and thought that he looked like a God-given gift to humanity. In short, after his transformation, Steve looked like an utter asshole and the mannerism and walk Bucky told him to use only added to it.</p><p>“All suited up,” Steve said wryly right before they slipped out of the building. Bucky cracked a smile, but the tension between them was still palpable.</p><p>They walked for an hour before they reached the Sevastopol bay, a long cut that the Black Sea had made into the solid land, stretching for miles and miles, the blue water golden in the late afternoon sand. The bay was a dichotomy of opposites, industrial on one hand, large ships, loaded with containers sailing in and out of ports that lined the coast, interspersed with an occasional beach with rusted railings, shiny new hotel or a cute cafe. There weren’t many swimmers in the sea from what Steve could tell, the spring weather, although sunny, wasn’t inviting enough to take a dip into the cold water.</p><p>Once they found the railway, running along a part of the coast, Bucky told him they were near and, without a second glance started walking along the tracks. Steve wasn’t worried about the trains, their hearing was much too good for that.</p><p>Another thirty minutes later, tracing the path of the railway all the way, stepping over uneven ground and passing massive port warehouses, they stopped on a small hill overlooking another one of the small ports, with two huge dilapidated buildings standing right at the edge of the coast and three smaller new ones next to them. There were a few small boats decked on the left side and one massive industrial ship decked by the long piece of concrete-firmed coast on the right. On the outside, it was nothing that they hadn’t seen before.</p><p>Bucky looked at Steve, gave him a nod and started his way downhill. Steve followed.</p><p>At first glance, there was no one there, but the loud clanging—a clear sign of work—told them there were at least a dozen people around. Before they rounded a corner, Bucky warned, “Don’t talk,” and a second later they were already facing three people with iron welders in their hands, working on a part of a ship.</p><p>Bucky didn’t waste any time. He swaggered up, Steve in tow, saying in Russian, “I want to see Yegor.”</p><p>The guys looked at each other, eyebrows raised. One of them muttered something that sounded a lot like <em>Moscow boy</em>, a dig at Bucky’s accent. Bucky ignored him, standing perfectly still, until one of the guys stepped forward, looking them up and down, “Who are you?”</p><p>Bucky’s mouth stretched into a smile that was the opposite of amusement. It was dark and boded nothing good for those who opposed him. “Yegor will know when he sees me.”</p><p>They stood in silence, seizing them up, before the skinny, wiry man who’d spoken inclined his head. The guy behind him nodded and disappeared through a door behind them. So the skinny one wasn’t just a brave mouth. He was above the other two in the hierarchy. Steve made a mental note. It was always good to know who was in charge of who.</p><p>It took five long minutes of awkward staring, before the man who’d left appeared again, a short grey-haired man with a stout body that spoke of hard muscle in his youth in tow. As soon as Yegor’s eyes fell onto Bucky, he stopped in his tracks. Steve didn’t miss the shock that fleeted across his face.</p><p>“Soldat,” he spoke, after schooling his features. There was uncertainty in his voice which was measured with the careful precision of someone who didn’t know how the night would turn out. “I heard you’re not with your old handlers anymore.”</p><p>Whether he meant the Soviets or American Hydra Steve didn’t know. Bucky tried not to tense, but Steve could feel it against his side.</p><p>“I’m on my own now,” Bucky said, keeping his body casual despite the stiffness.</p><p>“So I heard.”</p><p>Steve heard footsteps beyond the door, coming closer. Bucky did too, judging by the way he tilted his head.</p><p>“I’m only here for some gear,” he explained, nonchalant. “You never gave me a reason to want revenge, Yegor. One could say, I remember our dealings with warmth.”</p><p>Bucky was teasing, playing the game right on the edge of a knife, speaking out his intentions, but underlining them with the promise that they could change any time. Three more men walked out of the door. They were armed to the teeth. Bucky paid them no mind.</p><p>“You lost your arm.” Yegor nodded at the empty sleeve of Bucky’s tracksuit.</p><p>“Misplaced it,” Bucky said with a shrug and a self-deprecating smile, “you know how it is; bad memory. I’m sure I’ll find it on the back of a shelf one of these days.”</p><p>Yegor narrowed his eyes and <em>hmm</em>ed, apparently catching onto something Steve hadn’t.</p><p>“Russia would pay me a lot for you.” Yegor crossed his arms over his chest and the guys behind him lifted their weapons, training them on Bucky and Steve. For the first time, Yegor’s eyes flicked at Steve as he continued as if nothing had happened, “Him too if I’m not wrong about who he is.”</p><p>“Yeah, I wouldn’t do that, if I were you,” Bucky still stood exactly as he had before. Wide, relaxed, hand in his pocket. “I have new allies now.”</p><p>Yegor laughed, a snide, jeering sound. “Heard that was short-lived.”</p><p>The smile Bucky sent his way was even darker than before, colored with malicious intent. “Looks like you don’t hear too well.”</p><p>He was playing the ally card. He was playing the ally card, betting on allies that didn’t exist. Steve was less and less sure this would go down well. Though...perhaps he wasn’t that wrong. Maybe any possible reconciliation with Tony was a wild dream, but Steve didn’t doubt that Natasha would raise hell if he were captured.</p><p>“I <em>was</em> thinking about a hearing aid. I’m getting old.” Yegor’s voice dropped the pretense of harshness. He uncrossed his arms, letting them fall down to his side. The guns behind him lowered, too. Yegor smiled, more genuine this time, even though the wariness never really left his eyes. “And I did always have a soft spot for <em>Zimny Soldat.</em>”</p><p>“Aww, Yegor, I always had a soft spot for you too,” Bucky grinned. “You did always have the best gear.”</p><p>Yegor, unaccustomed to seeing the Winter Soldier smile and joke so casually, shook his head in what was half-amusement, half-disbelief. Steve, too, felt like shaking his head. The drastic turn the situation had taken gave him whiplash.</p><p>Yegor inclined with his head, motioning for them to follow. “What do you need? Guns, bombs, grenades?”</p><p>“Not this time,” Bucky shook his head. “We need bugs, tracking devices, burner phones and such. Ok, maybe some guns.”</p><p>“Ahh, even better.” Yegor’s eyes glinted in excitement and his pace got quicker. “This way then.”</p><p>They walked down a large empty hallway, the paint peeling off in places, but the building still as firm as when they made it. When they got to one of the many unmarked and unremarkable doors, Yegor stopped, fishing out his keys. He looked between Bucky and Steve then motioned to Steve. “You stay here.”</p><p>“No,” Steve said immediately, he wouldn’t let Bucky go into the room alone. Not when Steve couldn’t tell what was in there. Not when he couldn’t tell if there were more armed people waiting to exploit the opportunity of having them apart.</p><p>“Oh look, you talk,” Yegor mocked, his English rough. He rolled his eyes. “Fine, you come too. I like show my toys around.”</p><p>Whatever the reason was fine with Steve. There were no more armed people in that room and they left the thugs in front, guarding the door. The lights flickered on by themselves illuminating the room. If Steve had expected something like the S.H.I.E.L.D. gear room, all sleek and clean, with items and weapons neatly stacked along the walls, everything marked with its own number, this was the opposite of that. Long sturdy tables lined the walls and the gear was scattered all over them, bugs mixed with tasers mixed with wires mixed with earpieces. There were shelves above them with things Steve didn’t recognize and there was more of it in the room which he could see through at the end of the archway. He couldn’t deny, messy as it was, it made his heart skip a beat at the possibilities. The tech looked amazing, scattered as it was, it was impossible not to tell it was the work of a genius to rival Tony Stark.</p><p>“My little passion project,” Yegor told Steve, bouncing on his toes when he saw Steve looking at a corner of the desk where a chair stood and where there were wires and tools, from small pliers to miniature screwdrivers littered around a small square piece of metal. “It’s not ready yet. Maybe next time you drop by.”</p><p>Steve didn’t say he hoped that would be never, only nodded and wondered if every scientist was that weird. Everyone he’d met up till then was absolutely nuts, and Steve was noticing a pattern.</p><p>Bucky and Steve separated, each of them traveling from desk to desk, picking what they thought would come in handy, and, if needed, checking with the other across the room to avoid taking doubles. A few hours later, they dumped two plastic shopping bags’ worth of equipment onto the kitchen table of their shabby accommodation, accompanied by two shopping bags of actual groceries. Steve went to put the food into the cupboards and the fridge while Bucky sorted through the equipment, packing some of it into the backpacks, and leaving some of it outside just in case they needed it.</p><p>“I’m gonna activate our burner phones,” Bucky told him as he sat on the chair.</p><p>Steve nodded, looking back over his shoulder. “You took phones for Scott and Sam too, right?”</p><p>“Yeah, they’re right here,” Bucky waved at the four new smartphones laid out one next to the other. “I even got you one for Stark. So that he can reach you if he needs you. I thought you might like that.”</p><p>“I—thanks—I do, actually,” Steve’s reply was awkward, but he didn't quite know what to think about it. He didn’t even want to think about Tony, but he couldn’t deny that Tony was kind of probably still his friend. Just a little bit. He would always choose Bucky over Tony, but he would choose Bucky over anyone, and as angry as he still was at Tony’s reaction at the bunker, Steve believed Tony’s heart was in the right place. He was sure that when he had calmed down, he’d regretted his reaction. If Tony needed him one day Steve wanted him to at least be able to reach out.</p><p>“Here,” Bucky pulled him out of his thoughts and threw a small phone at Steve. Steve caught it with one hand. “We’ll mail this to him on the way to Budapest.”</p><p>Steve stared at the small square of tech in his hand. “This is a flip phone.”</p><p>“Mhm.” Bucky didn’t even grace him with a look, he kept tapping on one of the smartphones, encoding it further and checking for the quality of blockers inside.</p><p>A smile tugged at Steve’s lips, suddenly finding the whole thing extremely hilarious. “You got us all top of the market smartphones and you got Tony a flip phone.”</p><p>“It’ll piss him off,” Bucky offered his explanation feigning nonchalance, but Steve could see the slight smirk tugging at his lips.</p><p>“That it will.” Steve’s mouth stretched into a sincere smile at the image of Tony, the fucking technology wizard of the century, receiving a flip phone. “Too bad we won’t be there to see it.”</p><p>Bucky looked up from the phone then, surprise on his face. He hadn’t thought Steve would find it funny. Just how boring did he think Steve had become?</p><p>“Oh, he deserves it.” Steve flipped the phone open and closed. He didn’t even think he, himself, would know how to use it. He’d woken up into a fully digitalized world, smartphones and screens everywhere. The flip phone was almost charmingly clunky. “I wish we could send him a telegram, just for kicks.”</p><p>Bucky’s smirk got wider and the glint in his eyes more mischievous. “How about adding two cups connected by a string into the package? Give him some alternatives?”</p><p>Steve laughed out loud, the tension of the day draining out of him. Bucky always was able to make him forget about the situation they were in, be it an apartment that didn’t warm up during the winter, be it hunger on the days before they got paid, or the sound of bombs going off a few miles away. Their roles might have been reversed in a lot of ways, and they might have changed irreversibly, but Bucky still made his life better, in a thousand different ways, like he always had.</p><p> </p><p>✩✩✩✩✩✩</p><p> </p><p>The night before leaving Crimea was a peaceful one for both of them. As far as Steve could tell neither he nor Bucky had any nightmares and they’d both slept through the night. It wasn’t like Steve was superstitious, but he took it as a good sign before they continued their path. He woke up slowly, something that didn’t happen much since the war. He rolled onto his back, opening his eyes languidly as he pushed the covers down to his waist, his metabolism kicking into gear, making the heat of the blankets oppressive. Bucky was also in the process of waking up, sighing himself to wakefulness as he extended his arm above his head, stretching like a teenager who’d gotten to sleep in and skip mass on a Sunday. Steve couldn’t keep his eyes from tracing the movement, following the flex of his bicep, the movement of his chest muscles that were visible through the black t-shirt he wore to sleep.</p><p>Steve’s gaze slid down, past the embroidered duvet, past Bucky’s waist, his hips and—mouth going dry—Steve noticed the unmistakable tenting of the thin blanket. He swallowed and turned his eyes away immediately. Unfortunately, he was stupid enough to settle them right on Bucky’s face. Bucky who was more than obviously awake. Bucky who was watching him. Bucky whose eyes bore into Steve with an intriguing intensity that proved he’d seen exactly what Steve had been staring at.</p><p>Steve’s heart picked up its pace and he felt very, very awake all of a sudden. He licked his lips as Bucky’s eyes continued bearing into him, the moment stretching between them, like thick maple syrup.</p><p>Steve had never really been shy—ashamed maybe—but he was never shy, so before he could stop himself, before he could even think, he opened his sand-filled mouth, eyes flicking down to the bulging blanket.</p><p>“You, uhh—” he cleared his throat “—want me to help with that?” He felt like an ant, marching into the sweetness of the syrup, intent on tasting it, not knowing that it could drown him.</p><p>Bucky blinked.</p><p>“You know,” Steve whispered when Bucky didn’t say anything and Steve’s heart threatened to break his ribs if he didn’t get a reaction out of Bucky soon, “like—like we used to.”</p><p>For a brief second, Bucky’s eyes flitted across his face, tracing Steve’s lips and the blush high on his cheeks and immediately Steve knew this wasn’t news to Bucky. He knew what Steve was talking about, he knew about what they used to do, knew how deep it went. Then Bucky turned his head away, hair splaying across the white pillow like branches of a bush in autumn. “Nah, I’m good,” he said, pushing himself up and away from Steve. He got out of the bed before the words made their way into Steve’s head.</p><p>When they did, it was like someone had poured ice-cold water down his spine before replacing it with burning coals. He went from cold to hot in a matter of seconds. The skin over his whole body flushed, the nerves along his spine prickling as rejection took hold.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Please know the Adidas tracksuits are more of an inside Slavic joke rather than a dig. I trust my fellow Slavs will understand. ✌️</p><p>If you like the fic, reblog this <a href="https://synonym-for-life.tumblr.com/post/637779254866837504/a-hat-a-horse-a-hyundai-and-the-will-to-ride">Tumblr post</a> or this <a href="https://twitter.com/anotherstuckybb/status/1339754748350767104">Twitter post</a> to spread the word! :*</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. On The Road Again</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In this chapter, we get a better look at their relationship in the past and, you won't believe this, they even address some of the things that are troubling them <em>out loud.</em> They don't solve much, but it's a start?</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This chapter, again, contains elkane's (<a href="https://elkane.tumblr.com/">Tumblr</a> and <a href="https://twitter.com/elkane16">Twitter</a>) art!!! This time it's pre-war Steve and Bucky aka my fave punk and jerk in the world. You can reblog the pre-war babes via <a href="https://elkane.tumblr.com/post/636077416062779392/1930s-bucko-and-steebling-for-synonym-for-life">this link</a> but you can also reblog all the art pieces El did for NASBB via <a href="https://elkane.tumblr.com/post/637434581296070656/nasbb-2020">this one</a></p><p>Sidenote, this entire fic was/is being written to country music, specifically Willie Nelson's music and his renditions of famous songs. You might have noticed that the titles, too, all have that cowboy vibe to them hahaha. The title of this chapter was taken from Nelson's song <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dBN86y30Ufc">On The Road Again</a>. Two other songs are mentioned: <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_7OZ-isHhyE">Let It Be Me</a> and <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R7f189Z0v0Y">Always On My Mind</a> both of which I listened to in Willie Nelson's version.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>It was the first week of vacation, the sun was hot in the sky and only the slightest of breezes was making the curtains of the bedroom window flutter. Steve’s Ma had only just left, her afternoon shift at the hospital starting at one. She had cooked them a vegetable broth and they’d eagerly eaten it, hungry after playing baseball outside all morning. Bucky was sitting in the window, trying to smoke a cigarette that he hadn’t yet learned how to inhale properly. He was the picture of a lanky fifteen-year-old trying to figure out a way to be more grown up than he looked. Steve smiled from where he was spread over his bed. He had told Bucky he looked stupid wheezing through cigarettes and slicking his hair back with cheap pomade that only made his hair stick up in strange places.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Your hair’s a mess,” Steve felt the need to let him know again.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“‘S not,” Bucky coughed.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Is,” Steve confirmed.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“It’s ‘cause we were playing outside all morning.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Was like this when I came by your place.” The sun backlighting Bucky’s form was making the strands of hair sticking out at the top of his head even more obvious.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Mary Jane still looked at me all pretty.” Bucky puffed out a full mouth of smoke through a cocky smirk. His cocky smirk was the only thing he’d managed to get right in his attempts at becoming as similar to the up and coming actor Cary Grant as possible.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Sure, hotshot.” Steve patted his undershirt to check if it was sticking to his chest. It wasn’t but the feeling of sweaty moisture still made him grimace.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“We got no luck in the love department, Stevie,” Bucky whined for the hundredth time that week. “Mary Jane might look at me pretty, but her pops would kill me for trying anything. And Lizzie didn’t want nothing to do with me.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“She’s twenty-three, Buck,” Steve reminded him, laughing at the memory of Lizzie looking at Bucky like he’d grown three heads and telling him to grow out of his pimples first.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“And I’m tall for my age.” Bucky pulled himself up higher as he shook the cigarette ashes out onto the fire escape.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“That you are,” Steve could only confirm. Bucky was tall and strong for his age, the image of a boy becoming a man. Steve was so far behind he didn’t think he would ever catch up.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>They fell silent, Steve breathing in and out slowly, marvelling at the feeling of a full chest. Spring had been hard on his asthma so whatever bit of relief that came with summer was that much more appreciated. From the sound of it, Bucky had finished smoking and was now fidgeting with the curtain. Bucky always had to fidget some and it annoyed Steve to no end.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Right when he was about to tell him off for wrinkling the fabric, Bucky spoke, “Matty told me sumthin’.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Steve, who had closed his eyes at some point, rolled them behind his eyelids. Matty had a track record for dumb ideas. When Bucky didn’t give any indication he was going to go on, Steve lifted his head. “What was it?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Bucky’s head was bowed and as he looked at Steve it was from beneath his lashes. He fidgeted with his hands in his lap. “You’re gonna say it’s stupid.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“I always say that about Matty’s ideas,” Steve pointed out.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“He said...” Bucky lifted his head. His eyes ran over Steve’s stretched-out form on the bed, then quickly flitted to the side. He licked his lips nervously. “‘Was drunk when he’d said it, but...he told me he and Jack, his best pal, they—help each other out sometimes, if ya know what I mean.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Matty was an eighteen-year-old cocky asshole who Bucky thought was the height of style. He was also dumber than any first grader Steve had ever met.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“No, I don’t know what you mean.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Ugh, don’t make me say it.” Bucky ran a hand over his hair and dropped it in frustration when he was met with gel instead of the soft curls he had been used to all his life. If Steve didn’t know any better, he would have thought Bucky was blushing.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“I dunno what I’m making you say!” Steve was really just about done with this conversation. Any conversation involving Matthew Frelich was one Steve would rather skip.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Ya know, when he and Jack are going through a dry spell…” Bucky trailed off, expecting Steve to finish the sentence. Steve only rose onto his elbows, looking at Bucky’s fidgeting form more fully.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Steve!”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“What?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Do I gotta say it?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Yes!” Steve shook his head in disbelief. “I got no clue what you’re yapping about!”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“They jerk off together!” Bucky blurted out. “He said that when—when you ain’t got a girl to do it with, your best friend’s the next best choice.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Steve gaped at him from the bed, Bucky’s awkwardness the only thing that convinced him he wasn’t fucking with Steve. Steve didn’t know what to say. Bucky was—he was—he was saying they should—</em>
</p><p><em>They’d grown up together. They’d learned about what their bodies did together. Bucky had always wanted to talk about it, making Steve flush with embarrassment as they revealed their dirty secrets, pulling everything out of Steve no matter how much he tried to claim some stuff was meant to be private. And now Bucky wanted to do it </em>with <em>him. Images of them lying next to each other on the bed, like they had countless times before, flitted through his head, except this time, Steve was watching Bucky’s hand slide down his own stomach, pull out his white undershirt and dip lower, past the band of his underwear and against the length of the hard-on that was tenting the white fabric.</em></p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>“That’s the dumbest idea Matty’s ever had,” Steve whispered through the shock of the vivid image. He couldn’t counter the feeling of something stirring in his gut.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Yeah, it’s, yeah,” Bucky agreed. After Steve turned out to be at a loss for what to say, Bucky just shrugged, muttering, “‘S dumb, you’re right.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Okay,” Steve said after another moment of awkward silence.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Huh?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Okay,” Steve nodded slowly. He shrugged. “Won’t be the first time we did something dumb.”</em>
</p><p><em>A small smile sneaked onto Bucky’s face. “Sure won’t be </em>your <em>first.”</em></p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>That day was the first day Steve came while looking into Bucky’s eyes. It was far from the last.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>✩✩✩✩✩✩</p><p> </p><p>“I thought we weren’t stealing from civilians?” Bucky piped up as he closed the passenger door of the grey Hyundai. As soon as the car rumbled to life, Steve lifted his head from beneath the wheel. Letting go of the wires he placed his left leg onto the clutch while his right held the brake.</p><p>“We’re borrowing.” He released the parking brake and turned the car onto the road, keeping the lights off and letting the street lights illuminate the way.</p><p>“Feel like I’ve heard this before,” Bucky muttered as he bent forward looking for the lever to move his seat as far back as he could to make more room for his spread legs. His blue jeans were completely black in the faint light as they clung around his thighs.</p><p>Steve didn’t grace him with an answer. He <em>hoped</em> that the person they stole the car from got it back once he and Bucky had ditched it for another one a few hundred miles in, but he didn’t know how likely that was.</p><p>“I stole a car with Natasha once,” he said instead, preferring to leave out the details about Camp Lehigh and Zola. “Told her I learned that during the war.”</p><p>Bucky turned his head towards Steve. A yellow beam of street light passed across his face making his eyes shine. “You didn’t, though.”</p><p>“I know.” Steve’s mouth quirked into a smile. “I just didn’t feel like explaining.”</p><p>“Explaining that you were a little shit long before that?”</p><p>Steve laughed. “Yeah, I guess.”</p><p>Steve could tell Bucky was still looking at him, but he remained focused on the road.</p><p>Bucky huffed. “All I did was show you how to start a car without a key, I didn’t mean for you to go hijacking Mr. Williams’s car just to go driving up to New Jersey of all places.”</p><p>“You came with me,” Steve reminded him.</p><p>“Yes, but I’d like to put it on the record that I kept telling you it was a bad idea all along the way.” Bucky reached out to the knob that regulated the heating and turned it up.</p><p>“You still came.” Steve made a turn that was a little bit more forceful than he usually would just to knock Bucky about a bit and make it hard for him to set the heating. Bucky threw him a dirty look.</p><p>“You always were getting me in trouble,” Bucky looked out the window with a wistful smile. Steve understood. Some things were just easier back then. It was easier to smile, easier to laugh, easier to cry, even. These days he felt like a heavy blanket had been laid over him and everything was muted. He was afraid he would never be able to throw it off.</p><p>They drove north deeper into Ukraine. The dawn had been about to break when a lazy officer waved them over the Crimean-Ukrainian border without so much as indicating they should pass their documents. Neither of them had been overly worried about it, but they both settled into the ride more comfortably when they were a decent few miles away from the menacing fence separating the occupied territory. Bucky started rummaging in the front drawer, pulling out a stack of CDs. Frowning, he tilted the covers into Steve’s line of sight. All of them had men in cowboy hats on them.</p><p>“Hillbilly music?” Steve asked, glancing between the albums and the road.</p><p>“Think they call it country these days.” Bucky popped one of the plastic cases open, pulled out a CD and inserted it into the slot. Steve hadn’t seen many new cars with these but, as opposed to flip phones, he had actually used CDs before. They reminded him of the old gramophone records and he was strangely sad to find out they, too, were becoming outdated.</p><p>The sounds of guitar and gentle country ballads filled the car as the countryside rolled past their windows. Interspersed in between the slow rhythms were fast-paced happy songs. Nat had teased him about his taste when she found his YouTube history that one time Steve had become kind of obsessed with Cotton Eyed Joe. It was a catchy song and he knew for a fact almost the whole world agreed. A good song was a good song, no matter the genre, or the lyrics’ implications, in this case. Besides, Steve had been fond of cowboys ever since he and Bucky had become obsessed with them as children. To their mothers’ consternation, they had insisted on greeting everyone with <em> Howdy  </em>for a few months. </p><p>Hillbilly music must have been fine with Bucky, too, since, once the CD in the car rolled its course, he took it out and put in another one. Caught up in his own thoughts, Steve had mostly been ignoring the lyrics until a song opened with the sounds of a gentle piano. Once he started listening, he wished he hadn’t.</p><p><em>Maybe I didn't love you quite as often as I could have</em> a man’s voice vibrated from the speakers. Involuntarily, Steve stiffened. <em>And maybe I didn't treat you quite as good as I should have.</em> He reminded himself this was just a song and had nothing whatsoever to do with his life. He kept his eyes on the road. Still, when the chorus sounded, he had to pretend not to feel the prickling in his eyes. He felt like a fool. He didn’t even know what he was weepy about. It wasn’t like— it wasn’t like they were ever— it wasn’t— Bucky had brushed him off the previous morning and Steve was fine with that. It was awkward, but he was <em>fine.</em></p><p><em>Little things I should have said and done, I just never took the time,</em> rolled over the car when he noticed Bucky’s knuckles were white from the force he was squeezing his knee with. Steve chanced a glance in his direction, but Bucky’s face was hard set and his eyes were determinedly staring at the green fields rolling by. <em>Tell me that your sweet love hasn't died and give me, give me one more chance</em> and Steve had to look away. He grabbed the wheel tighter. Images flitted through his head, mouths meeting on a whisky tainted breath, hot, sticky summers and two bodies rubbing against each other, the enforced distances that happened after, the heavy gazes that were pulled away and hidden.</p><p>The song ended and a new one began but Steve felt like he was sitting in the midst of a silence so deadly he wouldn’t have heard his own voice if he had screamed. He focused on the landscape but the flat fields didn’t give him much to look at.</p><p><em>I bless the day I found you, I want to stay around you and so I beg you,</em> the next song started playing and Bucky jerked out of his stillness, jabbing his finger at the eject button, silencing the music. He took the CD out and threw it into the compartment in front of him. Whether Steve should have said something or not, he didn’t even open his mouth to try. The previous morning was still fresh in his mind. The offer he’d given with a dry mouth and the easy brush-off he’d received in return.</p><p>They stopped at a gas station for food and coffee which finally broke the awkward silence between them. Stilted conversation over a croissant (or four (each)) was better than enduring a fourteen hour drive with only their own thoughts to occupy them. In the afternoon, they left the car on a parking lot in front of a large mall and, bags filled with food and their hiking backpacks popping at the seams, they walked a few blocks over where Steve “borrowed” another one from an underground garage. They switched seats and, after the night fell, they drove on, munching on cereal chocolate bar after cereal chocolate bar. When the night had firmly set in, Bucky turned the lights off and swerved onto a country road by one of the big fields, driving over bumps and holes in almost complete darkness until he was able to park the car halfway into a hedge.</p><p>“Gotta get some sleep,” he muttered as he bent around the seat to retrieve a carton of orange juice. He downed half of it in one gulp and gave the rest to Steve.</p><p>Steve took a few sips then sighed. “Is one of us going to have to get the backpacks from the trunk?”</p><p>Bucky nodded but gave no indication that he was going to be the one to sacrifice himself.</p><p>Steve frowned at the darkness outside. “It’s cold.”</p><p>“It’s why we need the backpacks,” Bucky said smartly. “It’s also why I’m not going.”</p><p>Steve sighed even deeper. “Selfish bastard,” he muttered as he unbuckled himself and got out of the car. Out of spite, he left the car door open as he walked to the trunk. He got the backpacks and walked back to the passenger door as quickly as he could. He pushed one giant backpack into Bucky’s lap, flattening him against the seat. Steve got back in and shut the door. It wasn’t even that cold, it was the principle of the thing.</p><p>“Rude.” Bucky threw him an ugly look and wrangled the backpack onto the back seat, making sure it hit Steve as it went. Steve threw him a nasty look right back, but couldn’t completely smother the look of amusement on his face. This was familiar.</p><p> </p><p>✩✩✩✩✩✩</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“You sure you’re friends?” Jones’s eyebrows showed his skepticism as he looked between the two.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Yup,” Bucky answered as he continued to glare at Steve and tried to force the tattered blanket into his arms.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Best friends,” Steve agreed, and shoved the blanket back at Bucky. He reached around in order to grab the completely new, hole-less, rough-as-hell-but-very-warm-looking blanket that was peeking out of the equipment box and which Bucky was so adamantly defending.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Doesn’t look like it,” Morita piped up, a can of cold beans in his hand. Steve assumed Morita didn’t have a best friend because this was exactly what it looked like. Sometimes you just had to let yourself be a stubborn petty ten-year-old again. And sometimes when the shells were flying through the air barely a few miles off that was exactly what you needed.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“You don’t even get cold anymore,” Bucky reminded him and, giving up his efforts of stuffing the unfortunate blanket under Steve’s arm pits, threw it over his head.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“It’s still not pleasant!” Steve huffed. He pulled the blanket off his face. “But fine. I’ll just shiver the night away. It’s not like I’m not used to it.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Oh, I’m sorry Mr. Grant, I wasn’t aware I was playing a side-character in your drama.” Bucky threw back quickly, leaning over the equipment box protectively.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Later, after Steve had done his perimeter duty, he noticed the blankets had been switched and the new one was safely tucked in his sleeping bag. Even later, when everyone but Dernier who was on watch had fallen asleep, Steve threw off the new, warm blanket and, as subtly as he could, covered Bucky’s sleeping form with it. It was the principle of the thing.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>✩✩✩✩✩✩</p><p> </p><p>Dawn turned up misty and grey, the green grass barely visible outside the car windows. Steve hugged his jacket tighter and turned to Bucky to shake him awake.</p><p>“Good morning,” Bucky said, instead, already very much awake.</p><p>“How long have you been up?” Steve’s voice was groggy. He rubbed his face, the short stubble scratching across his palm. He really wanted a shave, but he was a lot less recognizable with some facial hair, so he decided to ignore the itching.</p><p>“About thirty minutes,” Bucky reached back to grab some food from the numerous shopping bags that lined the floor. “Couldn’t sleep once dawn started breaking. We’re too exposed.”</p><p>Steve turned to look outside. It wasn’t hard to imagine what big body-shaped shadows would look like, marching towards the car through the fog. He’d momentarily forgotten they were basically fugitives. Sure, Bucky and him could probably deal with everything any country’s special operatives could throw at them, but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t be a hassle. It would set them back for weeks and alert the American authorities of their whereabouts. The last thing they wanted was for someone to realize they were snooping too soon.</p><p>“Yeah,” Steve nodded, “yeah, let’s go. We’ll eat on the way, we better make some head start before we’ll have to switch the car again. I’ll drive.”</p><p>They got out and, before switching seats, rummaged through the groceries to see what they had left. Steve found a few flattened pastries while Bucky pulled out two whole cartons of chocolate milk. Steve didn’t recall picking that off the shelf so it must have been Bucky’s doing. Thank god Bucky had good taste.</p><p>“When I saw chocolate milk in the store for the first time after DC, I realized I haven’t had it since the 30s,” Bucky said as he settled into the passenger seat, opening the carton. “I bought three dozen. It’s all I ate for the next three days.”</p><p>“I remember before your dad lost his job, he’d buy Dari-Rich every Friday,” Steve’s voice came muffled, bent as he was under the wheel. The car rumbled to life. “You always made me come on Saturday evening to have some with your sisters and you.”</p><p>“I did?” Bucky sounded genuinely surprised.</p><p>“Yeah, you don’t remember?” Steve turned on the wipers but the window had started misting up from the inside. He turned on the heating hoping it would dry up the glass.</p><p>“No, not really. Just remember I liked it.” Bucky shook his head then bent sideways to look at the crack between his seat and the door. “Oh! A hair tie!”</p><p>As Bucky tried getting the hair tie from the tight spot Steve wondered whether he’d done it to steer the conversation away so as not to make Steve upset about his faulty memory. Curiously enough, for the first time Steve felt no sorrow that Bucky didn’t remember, he only felt glad that he got to share this with him.</p><p>Finally managing to fish out the hair tie, Bucky bent his head between his knees. His hair fell forward, and as he threw his head back he tried smoothing it and scooping it up into his one hand. Things got complicated when he couldn’t slide the hair tie off his wrist without the help of his missing left arm. He cursed.</p><p>“I could help?” Steve offered, having been awkwardly watching Bucky’s struggles.</p><p>“You know how to tie a bun?” Bucky side-eyed him while reattempting to sweep the hair back in line.</p><p>“Not really,” Steve admitted. He <em>had</em> practiced on Becca, Bucky’s younger sister, all those years ago, but that had always ended in giggles because when Steve was done with his efforts her hair was in complete disarray. “But I can try?”</p><p>Bucky shrugged and handed him the hair tie. He made another of those motions, bending the head forward then throwing it back, exposing the strong line of his neck in the process. He angled his body to the side. He kept a good hold on his hair but some of it was escaping on the left side. Steve reached over tentatively, sweeping it into place. Bucky’s hair was so different when it was long. It felt just as smooth and soft, but even though there was a wave in the strands here and there, the stubborn curls he used to slick back so viciously were gone. Steve had liked those curls, but he also liked how Bucky didn’t keep his hair contained anymore, the way he let it fall around his face freely and the way he had gotten used to casually sweeping it to the side.</p><p>“Steve?” Bucky’s voice shook him from his reverie.</p><p>Steve cleared his throat. “Yeah, I just, umm, let me figure this out.”</p><p>The hair was just long enough for Steve to bend it in half at the nape of Bucky’s neck. He made a loop with the hair tie, then another one, and another one when two refused to hold the hair in place. He smoothed down the hair at the top of Bucky’s head. Steve was no pro, some of it was sticking out.</p><p>“I think it’s decent,” Steve finished, drawing his hands back. Bucky’s shoulders were really broad.</p><p>Bucky’s hand moved back to gently tap at the knot. The tendons in his neck moved with the gesture. Steve swallowed and looked away.</p><p>“I won’t look at myself in the mirror, but thanks anyway,” Bucky said, half-jokingly, half sincerely. Steve couldn’t quite meet his eyes, feeling very awkward all of a sudden.</p><p>“Don’t mention it.” He waved his hand, dismissing the thanks and shifted the gear. Focusing his attention to the rear and side mirrors he reversed the car. Bucky’s eyes studied him all the way to the main road. When Steve finally met his eyes, Bucky looked away.</p><p>The ride continued to be tense, the only thing occupying them was the rumbling of the car. The radio stayed silent, neither of them making any move to turn it on. Images and thoughts swept over Steve’s empty head one after the other, like lone tumbleweeds crossing a desert road.</p><p>He opened his mouth on the worst possible tumbleweed thought. “Is it because I’m big now?”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>The thought kept bouncing around Steve’s head like it wanted to beat his stupid mouth from the inside. “You heard me.”</p><p>“Is it because you’re <em>big</em> now?” Bucky confirmed he’d heard it perfectly well. Steve didn’t elaborate further. He fixed his eyes stubbornly ahead. It was a logical question no matter how stupid it sounded.</p><p>“You kissed Sharon Carter <em>three weeks ago.</em>” Even from the corner of his eye Steve could tell a strand of hair had escaped from Bucky’s hair tie.</p><p>“Oh,” Steve breathed. Bucky’s tone made Steve feel even more stupid. “Yeah. I did do that.”</p><p>“Yeah, you did.”</p><p>In front of both Sam and Bucky no less. Steve couldn’t really say why he did it. Not now not then.</p><p>“I felt like...I had to.” It was as good of an explanation as he could come up with. “It felt like something to be done in that moment. Like it was the right thing to do.”</p><p>“Hell of a reason to kiss someone.”</p><p>It wasn’t a very noble reason that’s for sure. Or an honest one. Steve wanted to at least be honest retroactively, even if only to assuage his guilty conscience. Sharon was… she was the obvious choice for him. She was the obvious choice for Captain America. Steve had liked her as a neighbor and he had liked her as an agent; she was pretty and funny and dedicated to making a difference. She didn’t blindly follow the authorities and she had helped Steve and Sam when there was nowhere for them to turn. She was a good person and she looked at Steve with the kind of eyes Steve had come to learn meant that she was interested. Women had started noticing him more after he had got the serum. Steve knew those looks, but not because they had ever been directed at him. He knew them because he’d seen them thrown Bucky’s way. All those years he’d spent wishing girls and women had spent time looking at <em>him</em> that way got concentrated into one impulsive kiss. If it had been done more out of the sense of obligation to his runty self than true desire, Steve would feel bad about it in peace.</p><p>“It was a terrible kiss anyway.” Bucky pulled Steve out of what was about to turn into a spiral of guilt.</p><p>“What?” Steve got his bearings just in time to swerve a can on the road.</p><p>“Just awful.” Bucky nodded as if he was commiserating with Steve.</p><p>“It wasn’t terrible!” Steve finally caught up to Bucky’s words. Really, that kiss might not have been the most relaxed and passionate affair, but it was an okay kiss!</p><p>“So awkward I could feel it through the windshield.” Bucky didn’t sound sorry for crushing Steve’s confidence in the slightest. “Sam even said <em>yikes.</em>”</p><p>“He did <em>not.</em>”</p><p>“Did too.” Bucky nodded smartly.</p><p>“I hate you.” Steve frowned, cursing the heat he could feel climbing up his neck. “I hate you both.”<br/>
<br/>
</p><p> </p><p>✩✩✩✩✩✩</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Bucky’s body was heavy as it pressed Steve into the mattress. His movements against Steve’s hip bordered on desperate, but never once did his hand, wrapped around Steve’s dick, falter. Steve’s hips left the bed as he pushed into the tightness and with a flick of Bucky’s thumb over the head, Steve spilled into his hand on a gasp muffled by his own palm.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He could tell Bucky was close too from the way his breaths were coming short and sharp against Steve’s cheek. Steve pulled him tighter against his hip, letting him ride it and soon Bucky stiffened up, coming into his pants on a choky breath.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Bucky pushed himself up onto his elbow. Steve let his hand slip off his face so that air had an easier job making its way into his exhausted post-orgasmic lungs. Bucky’s eyes settled onto his and didn’t move. Usually, they were both quick to separate, needing the distance to justify their claims of ‘it’s just jerking off, it’s just two pals helping each other out’. But Bucky didn’t move this time. He kept his eyes glued to Steve as he slowly pulled his sticky hand away from Steve’s midriff, up and up, until it was right between their faces. Bucky bent down and flicked his tongue against his palm.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“What are you doing?” Steve whispered, every sound too loud for the moment.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Just wondered what it tastes like,” Bucky whispered back and bent down again to swipe his tongue more firmly against the white drops. He let his hand fall on Steve’s bony chest.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“So?” Steve wondered, air thick in his lungs.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Yeah,” Bucky nodded. It wasn’t any kind of answer to Steve’s question, but truth be told Steve didn’t know what they were even talking about anymore, he just knew that his mouth was surging up to meet Bucky’s in a rushed, hot, slanted kiss.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>✩✩✩✩✩✩</p><p> </p><p>They stopped at a gas station a few hours later, to eat their stale sandwiches. The road trip life quickly started losing its appeal when one had to rely on store-bought goods. They were avoiding restaurants, but Steve was starting to think it might be worth the risk as he chewed on the crumbling white bread. He had to eat <em>five</em> of these to satisfy his body’s crazy metabolism. They were sitting on a sad looking bench, far too close to the portable toilets whose smell wafted in their direction every few seconds. The gas station didn’t have a toilet or they didn’t want to share it. Whichever it was, Steve would have to brave one of these plastic olfactory torture huts soon.</p><p>“I have...a request.” Bucky spoke around a bite, then continued to chew mechanically.</p><p>Steve tore his gaze away from the offending blue of the portable WC and fixed it on Bucky’s concentrated frown. He waved at Bucky to continue. Steve’s mouth was glued together with poor quality flour.</p><p>“I want to get my arm fixed.”</p><p>Steve worked at getting his mouth unstuck.</p><p>“Right,” he finally got out. Even that one word sounded sceptical. He didn’t want to destroy Bucky’s hopes, but he doubted the arm could be fixed. Back in Sevastopol they had to smooth the edges of the jagged metal with sandpaper to stop it from tearing every shirt Bucky wore and Steve wasn’t entirely sure Bucky wasn’t being awfully optimistic about the salvageability of his metal arm. “How will we do that?”</p><p>“There’s someone in Budapest who knows a lot about my arm.” Bucky’s eyes were sifting through the pile of trash that had spilled out of the trash can not far from them.</p><p>Steve clocked onto the shiftiness immediately. He pursed his lips. “That’s a lot of words that tell very little.”</p><p>Bucky let out a frustrated breath. “Steve, someone in Budapest can probably put my arm back in place, stop being difficult.”</p><p>“Stop evading the real answer,” Steve countered. He couldn’t be angry at Bucky, not when Steve himself had used the same avoidant tactics back in Brooklyn. It was damn annoying having it used against you. He felt a pang of sympathy for Bucky’s past frustrations.</p><p>“Fine.” Bucky grit his teeth. “One of my Soviet handlers lives in Budapest and they might be able to fix my arm.”</p><p>“Right.” Steve supposed they were getting somewhere. That somewhere was backwards.</p><p>“If you ask me if I really need my arm, I will throw it in your face.” Bucky’s expression was serious as he finally met Steve’s.</p><p>“I wasn’t gonna ask that.”</p><p>“Good. Because I don’t,” Bucky brushed his hair out of his eyes with his wrist, making sure to angle the sandwich away from his hair. “Need it, that is. But I want it.”</p><p>“Okay.” Steve nodded. He didn’t have to like it. He could even think it was stupid to expose themselves like that. Reattaching a metal arm was risky because if word got out, everyone would know who it belonged to. But he’d come to realize that Bucky’s frustration with losing his prosthetic wasn’t merely due to the reduced functionality of his body, it was also because he simply <em>missed it.</em> Who was Steve to take this choice away from him, especially after Bucky barely had any body autonomy in the past seventy years. But this meant Steve would have to see Bucky’s handler. And Steve didn’t think he could handle that very well.</p><p>“Okay?” Bucky looked surprised at the lack of argument.</p><p>“Yeah,” Steve let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “Yeah, fine. Just—” Steve stopped because the end of the sentence would have been <em>just hope I don’t kill them first.</em></p><p>“When I got the arm...” Bucky spoke up, quietly this time, “it’s the first time I remember the Soldier being happy.”</p><p>“I— okay.” Steve nodded, hoping that his expression conveyed what his words couldn’t. He didn’t know if he should have bumped Bucky’s shoulder, or squeezed his arm in support, but those had always been <em>Bucky’s</em> gestures. It was always Bucky slinging his arm around Steve’s neck, elbowing him in the ribs, and Steve rolling his eyes as he secretly preened at the affection. Bucky wasn’t like that anymore and Steve never had been, so now they stood staring at each other awkwardly, before Bucky bent down to retreat another box of orange juice from the bag.</p><p>It was night when they pulled up to a train station of a small Hungarian town. It was the kind of town that had locally-owned grocery stores and restaurants and cafes inside houses that functioned as a business as well as a family home. A quiet, unassuming town was a good place to get rid of a stolen car. A quiet, unassuming town was not such a good place to pass unnoticed when trying to buy a ticket for the train to Budapest.</p><p>“Two tickets,” Bucky repeated, showing two fingers. “Two. Zwei. Dva. Deux.”</p><p>The young woman rolled her eyes. “Igen, kettő. Ahol?”</p><p>Bucky and Steve both stared at her trying to decipher, by way of mind reading, what she was saying.</p><p>“Two tickets,” Steve tried this time lifting his own hand in a peace sign even though he was pretty sure the woman had already figured that out, “to Budapest.”</p><p>Bucky and Steve were laden with their backpacks so the tourist factor was apparent. As soon as they had stepped into the hall of the train station, the woman working the cash register had put her phone down gingerly as if preparing for an unpleasant fifteen minutes. They had been there for ten already and her mood wasn’t getting any better.</p><p>She stared at them for a while, then swiveled in her seat, pushing away from the table towards the shelves behind her. She shuffled with the papers for a while before pulling out a map. She crab-walked the chair back to the register and shoved the map out of the tiny opening. Somehow she managed to spread it open. With her long, blue-painted nails, she stabbed a few different dots on the map. Budapest Nyugati pályaudvar, Budapest Keleti pályaudvar, Budapest Déli pályaudvar.</p><p>“Ohhh,” Steve breathed, finally realizing there was more than one major train station in the city. Bucky bent over the map and pointed at the Budapest Déli dot. The woman shook her head. Steve didn’t know what was going on anymore. Bucky pointed at the Nyugati station and the woman, again, shook her head no. Bucky pointed at the Keleti station and the woman finally nodded, tracing the finger from the town they were in, Hatvan, to the Keleti train station. Trains from this town only stopped at one train station in Budapest.</p><p>“Why the hell did you ask then?” Steve couldn’t help but feel agitated. The more they dawdled, the more nervous he was becoming. He wanted to get this whole thing over with. He wanted the next day to start with the knowledge that he had put meeting Bucky’s handler behind him. The cashier (who couldn’t be any more than twenty), silenced him with a withering look. Steve still didn’t know if she understood them or not.</p><p>She punched the keyboard a few times and told them the price. Thankfully, it was also written on the little screen behind the glass or Steve would have shoved the entire wallet at her and let her pick out however much she wanted. He was glad that they remembered to exchange the Ukrainian hryvnia to Hungarian forints because he’d had quite enough of ‘are you dumb?’ looks thrown his way that evening.</p><p>Buying the tickets took so long that they almost missed the train. When the cashier was done returning their change, she pointed at the board with the timetable and patted her wrist. “Siess, siess!”</p><p>Steve didn’t need to speak the language to know that meant they had to hurry up. Luckily the train station was small and the number of platforms was so low there wasn’t any point in even having them numbered. The train pulled up seconds after and they quickly boarded it. It was a new train whose insides looked more like that of a bus than that of a typical train. With a start Steve realized he hadn’t been on a train for a very, very long time.</p><p>They packed their luggage onto the shelf above their seats and sat down at the farthest corner. There was no one else in their carriage and the train barely filled up by the time they made it to Budapest.</p><p>Since the Keleti train station was the farthest from the suburbs they were headed to, they had to take the tram and another train before they made it to a quiet neighborhood. Everything was still, bar a few rustling leaves and a cat that ran across the road. They walked around for a bit looking for the right house number, until Bucky stopped abruptly nodding at the building on their left. The house was so normal Steve had to check the address with Bucky twice to convince himself it was the right one. It was an unobtrusive, calm house, which blended in with the houses around it so well it almost made it seem unnatural. The lights were off, but the faint streetlight illuminated the small herb garden in front and, for the first but not last time that evening, Steve wanted to puke. This person led a calm, peaceful life based on the blood and tears of innocent people. On Bucky’s blood and tears. They walked up the pathway and a light went off somewhere on the upper floor before they even had the chance to knock.</p><p>“She has surveillance systems in place,” Bucky said in a whisper that sounded way too tense for Steve’s liking. The backpack on Steve’s shoulders felt heavy, but he knew it wasn’t really the backpack that was weighing him down.</p><p>Bucky knocked. They heard someone shuffling far off inside the house. Someone who was trying very hard to be quiet but who didn’t know they didn’t stand a chance against supersoldier hearing. When finally the noise could be heard on the other side of the door, the knob turned and the wooden door moved to reveal an old brown-haired lady in a nightgown. An old brown-haired lady in a nightgown who was holding a gun and whose mouth was agape with shock.</p><p>“Ludmila,” Bucky greeted. Steve didn’t like the loss of color in his voice.</p><p>“Soldier.” The woman straightened up, but relaxed the hold on the gun slightly. She knew she was no match. Still, she cocked her head and smirked. “I was wondering when you’d grace me with a visit.”</p><p>Bucky didn’t say anything.</p><p>“So, are you here to kill me or…” Ludmila continued, pursing her lips as she glanced at Bucky’s empty sleeve, “do you need <em>a hand.</em>”</p><p>There was something in the way she didn’t seem to fear Bucky that chilled Steve to the bone.</p><p>“I need you to fix my arm.” Bucky didn’t hesitate. He shook his head minutely as if trying to get rid of an unpleasant thought. Steve wondered if this was him trying to silence his conditioning.</p><p>“Hmm.” Ludmila waited for a few seconds before stepping aside to let them in. Before Steve crossed the threshold she stopped him with a penetrating stare.</p><p>“And who are you?”</p><p>“Steve Rogers.” Steve smelled the sweetness of the roses that sat on the shoe wardrobe in the entryway. They were too sweet.</p><p>“Oh, I know,” Ludmila waved her arm, spotted from old age, “I just wanted to see if you’d say Captain America.”</p><p>When Steve didn’t answer, nor indicate that he even heard her, she turned and walked into the house indicating they should follow. Over her shoulder, she called, “You didn’t ask, but—” she gestured at herself, “—Ludmila Denisovna Portnova.”</p><p>Steve stumbled.</p><p><strong>Procedure:</strong> <em>Arm-Asset Optimization of the Nerve Connections</em><br/>
<strong>Date:</strong> <em>August 22, 1976</em><br/>
<strong>Carrier of procedure:</strong> <em>Ludmila Denisovna Portnova</em><br/>
<strong>Assistants to procedure:</strong> <em>Kliment Timurovich Pelyovin, Mitrofan Vladislavovich Pudin, Lidia Vladimirovna Tarasova</em><br/>
<strong>Duration:</strong> <em>8h 35min</em><br/>
<strong>Description:</strong> <em>The Asset was sedated, the arm plates removed in order to observe the functioning of the joints. An incision was made along the Asset’s spine and across the shoulder in order to observe the existing nerve connections and artificially create new ones with the help of the advanced tissue-formation procedure coupled with established mechanical procedures. Due to severe non-responsiveness of the subject’s nerve-endings under heavy sedation, the Asset had to be roused for the continuation of the procedure. Due to physical distress the Asset lost consciousness approximately every 20 minutes and had to be medically roused again in order to continue. This prolonged the procedure for minimally 3 hours.</em><br/>
<em><strong>Status of the procedure:</strong> Partially successful. To be continued on August 23.</em></p><p>Portnova didn’t notice Steve’s faltering step or at least she pretended not to. Bucky, on the other hand, glanced his way in warning. Steve wished Bucky had told him who they were meeting. Then again, Steve might not have been as forthcoming with agreeing to Bucky’s plan if he did.</p><p><em>Ludmila Denisovna Portnova</em> was a name that kept appearing in Bucky’s files over and over again from 1975 to 1986. A young scientist who had finished her doctors’ studies and was snatched up by the secret Soviet research program for her innovative ideas on biomechanical engineering. Her obsession with her work and her disregard for the suffering of any of her subjects had quickly made her climb ranks, and at merely thirty years old she had become one of the Winter Soldier’s main handlers.</p><p>And now they were in her house. Her very normal-old-lady-looking house. With her looking all normal and old lady-like. Yet, Steve knew every bone in this woman’s body was rotting with evil. He wondered how much Bucky even remembered about her. Did he know? Did he know all that she did to him? Did she not appear in his nightmares with scalpels and <em>pain</em> written in every gesture of her body? She did in Steve’s. Now he had a face to put on the monster.</p><p>Steve had asked Bucky about the trigger words, about what happened if she knew them. He hoped that Bucky was right when he had assured him that she didn’t know them.</p><p>“The handlers, especially the scientists, never knew the trigger words. The organization learned soon enough that a scientist with unlimited power is more dangerous than anyone else,” he had said. “Only three people knew the triggers and I killed two of them after I left the US. Zemo found the last one before I did.”</p><p>“And now everyone at the CIA that was involved in the psych evaluation knows them as well,” Steve reminded him.</p><p>“I actually don’t think...they would work now.” Bucky looked slightly embarrassed as he barged on with the sentence, “I’ve been saying them to myself in the shower.”</p><p>Steve had stood dumbfounded. He <em>had</em> been wondering why Bucky took such long showers, but he thought he simply liked the feeling of warm water. “You think that’s enough?”</p><p>“I don’t know. Maybe. I hope so.” Bucky had looked less certain than Steve would have liked. “It’s just. You gotta know, back at CIA Headquarters, I was in a chair back then... It made things worse.”</p><p>Steve should have done something more. He never should have let Bucky get captured.</p><p>“I’ll help,” he had offered. “With the trigger words. When we get this thing over with.”</p><p>Bucky had nodded and that had been that. And now they were in this perfectly normal house, with a perfectly normal lawn, with perfectly normal furniture and a psycho and Steve was fervently hoping that Bucky was right. Portnova, predictably, took them to the basement. Steve had seen enough horror movies in the past three years to know that was an especially bad idea, but they didn’t have much choice in the matter.</p><p>The basement was one large workshop. It was a lot like Tony’s lab except more orderly. There were multiple tables pushed along the walls, all neatly organized with only one table with something that looked like a half-done project resting on it. The walls were covered with tools, many of which Steve didn’t recognize. There were the usual tools like hammers and saws and what looked like a welding machine, but there were even more that looked like nothing he’d ever seen. One of them even looked like a chemistry set.</p><p>Portnova walked Bucky to a wooden chair at the edge of a table. Bucky didn’t sit down. He stood stiffly by the side as he cast his eyes around the room. He pointed at a round chair without a backrest a few paces over.</p><p>“I’ll take that one,” he muttered as he took off his backpack.</p><p>“It’s curious,” Portnova tilted her head like a cat observing a mouse, “seeing you like this. Making choices.”</p><p>Bucky’s jaw muscle jumped, but it was nothing compared to Steve who felt like he was going to grind his teeth into powder. To distract himself from it, he took off his backpack too and went over to grab the round chair. By the time he was back Bucky had already pulled his metal arm from his own backpack. Ludmila was inspecting it.</p><p>She passed her fingers along the jagged edge, gently running them down the bicep. Her mouth twisted sadly. She was looking at the arm with more sympathy than she had probably ever given Bucky.</p><p>“Ruining such a beautiful thing,” she muttered under her breath, shaking her head. “I can put it back no problem. But without extra maintenance work its abilities will be reduced by at least twenty percent.”</p><p>“Yeah, that’s fine.” Bucky nodded. He had sat down and hadn’t moved his gaze away from the foot of the cabinet in front of him ever since.</p><p>“What’s in it for me?” Portnova raised a challenging eyebrow at Steve.</p><p>Steve’s jaw muscle jumped. It had been doing that a lot for the past twenty minutes. “You get to not die.”</p><p>“Oh, Captain.” She looked at him from under her eyelashes and Steve was struck by how physically beautiful she was. She was old, yes, with wrinkles lining her face, but her long eyelashes and her full mouth was as attractive as it must have been in her youth. That mouth turned up into a humorless smile. “You wouldn’t.”</p><p>“Captain America wouldn’t.” For the first time, Steve was glad to miss the weight of the shield on his back. “Steve Rogers just might.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>A reminder that you can reblog El's pre-war art <a href="https://elkane.tumblr.com/post/636077416062779392/1930s-bucko-and-steebling-for-synonym-for-life">here</a> but you can also reblog all the art pieces El did for NASBB <a href="https://elkane.tumblr.com/post/637434581296070656/nasbb-2020">here!</a> Ngl, I have not managed to stop thinking about Steve's plump lips and Bucky's sexy smirk for WEEKS now!</p><p>If you like the fic, reblog this <a href="https://synonym-for-life.tumblr.com/post/637779254866837504/a-hat-a-horse-a-hyundai-and-the-will-to-ride">Tumblr post</a> or this <a href="https://twitter.com/anotherstuckybb/status/1339754748350767104">Twitter post</a> to spread the word! :*</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. A Stormin' Night</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Some trouble, some heart to heart, and some hilarity.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Guess who finally joins Steve and Bucky!!!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Bucky’s head whipped up and he stared at Steve wide-eyed, surprised by Steve's blunt declaration. Steve didn’t move his eyes from Portnova. He needed her to know just how serious he was being. Captain America had a lot of blood on his hands but Steve Rogers had more—he had been fighting long before the war started. Surely, he liked to think it was blood that was spilled for the right reasons, but he knew good reasons didn’t always save good people’s lives—sometimes they doomed them. It haunted him, knowing he had innocent blood in his ledger. While Portnova’s death wouldn’t delight him, it wouldn’t haunt his dreams either. There were many people more worthy to have his dreams disturbed by.</p><p>“Very well.” Portnova nodded. “I <em>am</em> intrigued to see how this will turn out. I’ve missed my little experiments.”</p><p>“If you hurt him—”</p><p>“Yes, yes, you’ve gotten your point across.” She placed the metal arm on the table and started preparing the tools. “It’s only going to hurt <em>a little.</em> Soldier,” she nodded her head in Bucky’s direction, “knows how it goes.”</p><p>“It’s fine, Steve.” Bucky motioned for him to sit down. “Reconnecting hurts a bit because the nerves get fired up.”</p><p>Steve sat down so stiffly it must have looked like he had never made that movement in his life. His beard was starting to itch and for some reason, it irritated him so much in that moment that he wanted to rip it off. Portnova set to work. She started on the edges of the torn-off limb smoothing them over, welding them, smoothing them over again, her hands dextrous and quick. Steve watched her like a hawk.</p><p>Bucky was doing okay up until the moment Portnova turned to him. He folded into himself becoming smaller, but at the same time stiffer. Her first touch made him shiver. Steve wished he could touch him, make it easier <em>somehow</em> but he didn’t know what to do so he sat there and watched as Bucky spaced out more and more the longer her hands worked on his torn-up arm. Portnova noticed Steve’s frown and smirked. The next time she ran her finger along the edges of Bucky’s metal arm, it was gentler, more intimate, as if showing Steve exactly how much she could get away with. Steve squeezed the arms of the chair and prayed he didn’t tear them off before this ordeal was over. He needed something to hold onto or he would snap.</p><p>Portnova noticed his discomfort and continued to toe the edge of Steve’s self-restraint, leaning way too far into Bucky’s space, touching him just this side of suggestive. When she bent down to peer inside of Bucky’s metal stump, her hand casually fell on Bucky’s thigh.</p><p>Steve heard the screech of the chair before he noticed he had stood up forcefully.</p><p>“Keep your goddamn hands where they gotta be,” he ground out through clenched teeth. She shrugged and did as he said. The mocking glances didn’t stop, though, the curl of her mouth getting more and more self-satisfied as time went on. It wasn’t until Bucky took hold of the edge of the table beside him that Steve realized she was about to reconnect the wiring. She did it without warning and Bucky grunted. The wood beneath his hand splintered as he closed his eyes in pain. It couldn’t have lasted for more than a handful of seconds, but it felt longer. Too long.</p><p>Bucky let out a heavy breath, signifying the pain was over. All that needed to be done now was close up the arm and they were done. Done and out of there as fast as possible. That didn’t take long, Portnova’s spotted hands working with practiced ease even through the welding and the sanding of the arm.</p><p>When Bucky finally stood up he was pale and shaky. Steve stepped up to his side, letting him lean against him. As Bucky looked down at his metal hand, a faint smile sneaked onto his face. He flexed his fingers and his smile widened further. When Steve threw him a questioning stare, Bucky nodded and stood up straighter.</p><p>“Thank you,” he said, voice hard.</p><p>“Yes, well, we’re going now,” Steve didn’t let Portnova speak. He never wanted to hear her voice again. They picked up their backpacks, shouldering them with ease. Steve nodded in Portnova’s direction. “No pleasure in meeting you, as expected,” he told her and followed Bucky. They were about to climb the stairs out of the basement when she called after them.</p><p>“I knew you were coming.”</p><p>Bucky stopped in his tracks with one foot on the stair. “Yegor?” he asked without turning.</p><p>“No.” The sound of her putting away the tools reached them. “There are eyes elsewhere.”</p><p>“Whose eyes?” Steve demanded.</p><p>“Now why would I be ratting out the kind people who bring me information?” She smiled innocently at him.</p><p>“Why are you telling us then?” Steve narrowed his eyes.</p><p>She pinned him with her cold gaze. “I like watching you squirm.”</p><p>Steve let out a slow audible breath through his nose. He would have said something scathing but he didn’t want to lose any more time. They were getting the hell out of there and he was getting Bucky some food because he looked almost as pale as when Steve had found him in Azzano all those decades ago—and yet in Steve’s memory it was mere years ago, it had only been a few <em>years</em> and the memories were still too fresh in his mind.</p><p>They left the house and briskly started walking. The dawn had broken sometime during their visit and the morning fog of the city was painted yellow at the horizon. None of the stores in the suburban neighborhood were open yet, so Steve and Bucky walked to the station to make their way into the city. The morning rush meant that the car of the train was nearly full by the third stop, and by the last one, Steve was squashed chest to chest against Bucky trying to avoid his eyes as his face heated up more and more with every second. No one was paying them any attention, but that didn’t change the fact that Steve’s body apparently had an excellent memory. Bucky licked his lips nervously and Steve couldn’t help but follow his tongue. When he accidentally caught Bucky’s eyes after, his breath caught.</p><p>“I’m gonna have to get a glove,” Bucky whispered and his mouth was way too close and there were way too many people pressing from all sides for the moment to feel this intimate.</p><p>“What?” Steve hadn’t really been following.</p><p>“A glove,” Bucky whispered again and it was only when he wiggled his fingers that Steve realized his metal arm was squished between their stomachs. Steve’s mouth fell open. There was nothing intentionally sexual about the positioning of Bucky’s hand but now that Steve knew it was there he couldn’t help noticing just how low on his abdomen it was.</p><p>“Uhh,” he breathed out and cast his eyes around the train. No one was paying them any attention, every person was focused on their own discomfort of being forced into a metal can with far too many strangers. Bucky’s eyes were fixed onto a pole to their left. He moved his fingers. Steve squirmed. Bucky smirked. Steve narrowed his eyes and tried to continue with his thought, “I actually got—”</p><p>Bucky wiggled his fingers again while pretending to peruse the sticker on the pole. Steve was going to kill him. He didn’t know what was going through Bucky’s mind. He had had a very stressful night and the tension was still clear in the lines of his face, but Bucky was prone to dismissing his negative feelings. He’d always brushed them off, saying there was no use in dwelling on the bad as he put on a shiny smile. Steve didn’t know if it was healthy of him to enable that, but he wasn’t ready to press the matter right now. If Bucky wanted to pretend he was fine for a while, even if it was by teasing Steve, Steve could give him that.</p><p>“I actually found a pair of gloves in the car,” Steve told him, his breath too winded for his liking. “I took them. Thought you might need them.”</p><p>Bucky pinched his stomach, making him regret that act of kindness already.</p><p>“Oh?” Bucky turned to look at Steve, pretending the pinch hadn’t just been delivered. His voice was sincere, though. “Thanks.”</p><p>Steve thought he had been saved from further teasing, and he settled into the ride more comfortably, still pressed against Bucky but at least with his mind out of the gutter. Then Bucky moved his fingers again. Lower. And then, once again, lower.</p><p>“Bucky.”</p><p>“Hmm?” he said, absentmindedly. Then he moved his thumb up and down. Steve’s abs clenched.</p><p>“What are you doing?” There was a note of warning in Steve’s tone.</p><p>“Riling you up,” Bucky said through that shit-eating smirk that had always made Steve want to either punch or kiss him or both.</p><p>“I thought you didn’t want that,” Steve said quietly, eyes questioning.</p><p>“I—” Bucky breathed. There was color high on his cheeks. Steve wasn’t the only one getting affected. Well, two could play this game.</p><p>“Because,” Steve didn’t let him finish. He leaned in, placing his mouth against the shell of Bucky’s ear. “If you don’t stop this right now, I’m going to walk out of this train with something very, <em>very</em> obvious, if you get my drift.” Bucky inhaled sharply. “These sweatpants don’t hide much.”</p><p>Steve leaned back just in time to see Bucky swallow.</p><p>“Duly noted,” he nodded and turned his head to stare at the pole again. It was Steve’s turn to put the shit-eating one on <em>his</em> face. Two had played that game and Steve had won.</p><p>By the time they stepped out of the metro station, the fog had thinned so much that the sun was visible in the form of a bright yellow orb behind the mist. The people around them were rushing to work, the students were rushing to their classes, bumping into each other and mumbling embarrassed apologies. Steve pulled on Bucky’s sleeve directing them to the street vendor of Kürtőskalács, a traditional Hungarian pastry. Steve had eaten a similar thing in Prague once when on a mission with Natasha and he hadn’t been able to forget the soft, buttery sweetness of it.</p><p>He bought a variety of them, happy that he could communicate with the vendor with the good old tried and tested method of finger-pointing and arm waving. When the transaction was made, they took the brown paper bags and started walking in the direction of the breeze coming from down the street. They broke out onto a road by the river. Crossing it, they made it to the river bank where they descended the stone steps and sat down on the patch that looked the cleanest. They breathed in the smells of the city. It didn’t smell good precisely, but not bad either. Mixed in with the exhaust fumes of the morning traffic jam was a mind-clearing freshness of the Danube river and the tree-filled parks of the green city.</p><p>Steve opened one of the bags and the smell of cinnamon joined the smell of the city, improving it further. Bucky followed suit and, in no time, they were on their third Kürtőskalács, enjoying the sweetness melting on their tongues as they observed the river traffic in silence. Steve glanced Bucky’s way seeing his far-away look. His cheeks had got back some of the color. Steve had been planning on achieving that with food, not highly inappropriate...whatever that was in the train. Flirting? Prelude to groping? But he would take whatever worked.</p><p>“You okay?” Steve asked. He didn’t want to pretend the night never happened. He might not be good at talking about difficult stuff, but he owed Bucky the decency of trying.</p><p>Bucky flinched slightly as if he had been shaken awake. “Yeah. Yeah, sorry. I’m okay.”</p><p>Steve nodded and bit into his pastry. He kept his eyes on Bucky, hoping to get some indication on what to do to make it better. To make something better. He wished he was Sam, or that Sam was there, at least, to tell him to stop being stupid and to just order him what to do. Sam was good with feelings. And people.</p><p>“I think I spaced out a bit back there,” Bucky admitted. “My mind started to conjure all of those...images. Memories. And I shut down because I didn’t want to see that again.”</p><p>Steve offered him another pastry when he saw that Bucky had finished his batch a while ago, empty paper bags crumpled in his metal hand. He took it gratefully.</p><p>“She…” Steve took in a deep breath and let it back out. A small ship was sailing against the current stubbornly. “She touched you. Inappropriately. Not—not anything major, just… borderline.”</p><p>Bucky’s eyes searched the opposite bank aimlessly. “I was an object. I don’t think they ever...you know,” his voice trailed off. “But they took...liberties, that’s for sure.”</p><p>They were quiet for a moment, simply observing the world waking up around them. Spring was beautiful in Europe, everything going green, the small rosebuds promising a blast of color.</p><p>“Do you remember what she did to you?” Steve had been wondering.</p><p>“Bits and pieces, fragments, an actual memory here and there,” Bucky spoke when a big ship was stirring the water below them. “Her last name means tailor. She used to tell me <em>nomen est omen.</em> That she would tailor me to perfection. Cut me open and sew me back better.”</p><p>Steve closed his eyes, then dropped his head onto his hands, sighing. He was going to have sugar crystals in his beard, but he didn’t care. “You’re going to need so much therapy.”</p><p>Bucky laughed. “Yeah, yeah, I will.”</p><p>“<em>I’m</em> going to need so much therapy.” Steve rubbed his face, thankful that they hadn’t gotten donuts or he would have had jam all over his face by now. “Not because of you. Just in general.”</p><p>“You always did have many problems,” Bucky agreed readily. Too readily.</p><p>“The biggest of which is your smartass mouth.” Steve scowled at him from his dramatic posture.</p><p>Bucky laughed again and the air felt lighter, the sun rays stronger.</p><p>“I missed you so fucking much, Bucky,” Steve told him, not turning away, not hiding. “Every day.”</p><p>Bucky’s blue eyes met Steve’s under the blue Budapest sky. “I missed you, too, Stevie.”</p><p>They were in a foreign country, after an exhausting night, with the knowledge that there were people tailing them fresh in their minds, but Bucky’s laughter was the last sound in the air and the day was beautiful.</p><p> </p><p>✩✩✩✩✩✩</p><p> </p><p>A few hours later, they ended up at Budapest Keleti. This time, they purposefully chose the rush hour when people were finishing work and returning home. It was easier to get lost in a crowd, especially one where there were a lot of other tourists with their backpacks towering over the mass of people. The Keleti train station was impressive, looming above the crowd, its window-filled arch reflecting the afternoon sunlight.</p><p>“Did you notice—” Bucky started as they were striding across the small bridge-like walkway that led towards the station.</p><p>“The guy at eight o’clock?” Steve looked that way out of the corner of his eye. The man had a large suitcase that he was dragging behind. The suitcase was bouncing freely on the little stones that littered the asphalt. “Dragging an empty suitcase behind him while looking very rushed?”</p><p>Bucky nodded while smiling ear to ear. Steve didn’t know how to react for a second, not sure what merited such a big smile until he realized Bucky was pretending they were talking about other things so as not to let the guy suspect.</p><p>“Let me deal with him,” Steve laughed, playing along. He’d learned a thing or two from Natasha. “You go buy the tickets.”</p><p>With one final look, Bucky obeyed and Steve turned without preamble, facing the man. Ten minutes later, after a lot of poorly disguised threats, he had no further information about who the guy was than before. The man was refusing to talk but he also wasn’t yelling for help so Steve was sure something fishy was going on. Bucky was probably done buying tickets, though, and they couldn’t afford to lose any more time. Steve was starting to get funny looks, having been hassling the man for so long, so he decided against fishing for his wallet and simply left him where he stood and took after Bucky. He found him just as the man behind the register was printing their tickets.</p><p>“Couldn’t get anything out of him,” Steve whispered as he sidled up to Bucky, making ‘excuse me I’m with him’ motions to the disgruntled line behind them. “I handcuffed him to the railing outside.”</p><p>“Mmm, kinky,” Bucky threw him a playful smirk, not overly concerned.</p><p>“Shut up.” Steve elbowed him. “I hope no one noticed, that would be awkward.”</p><p>“Oh, you’re not into voyeurism?” Bucky put on a disappointed voice. Steve tried to silence him with an ugly stare. “Well, I guess at least being into some bondage is something. Not that I should be surprised. The <em>star-strangled</em> man with a plan.”</p><p>“Oh my god,” Steve ran a hand over his face then quickly glanced back to see if any of the people were listening in. “I got a lot of shit for that line in my life, but <em>that</em>...”</p><p>“You’re welcome.” Bucky acknowledged Steve’s misfortune and turned to nod at the man who finally pushed the tickets out of the little window.</p><p>The train that they boarded was old. It was split into compartments, with yellowing curtains and faded seats. As soon as they got into one of the compartments, they shrugged off their backpacks, locked the door with one of the tools they got from Yegor and pulled the blinds closed. Steve sunk into a lumpy seat. He wasn’t exactly tired—his body needed much more to tire itself out these days—but he was drained. His mind didn’t let him rest, though. Thoughts chased around his head. Portnova’s words, the man who followed them quietly and didn’t say a single word when Steve tried getting something out of him. He wondered if these people were following them because someone suspected they were about to start snooping into the events surrounding the UN bombing or because they were simply keeping track of two US fugitives. It could very well be national authorities keeping track of them, biding their time in case this information could bring them some advantages in the international power play. Steve hoped it was the latter. They would be able to shake a few government agents off. But if someone else was behind it, they would have to keep their eyes very, very open.</p><p>Not for the first time that day, he wondered if Scott and Sam were okay. Had they been found too? Were they safe? If something had happened to them Steve would never forgive himself for letting them join him and Bucky. They had last seen them over two weeks ago and Steve and Bucky were in danger of running late to their meeting. They had agreed to give each other a weeks’ time to meet up in case they happened upon any trouble on the way. They had arranged different meeting spots over the city at a different time each day, during the first week of April. On Monday the meeting place was the famous telecommunications tower Donauturn at six in the evening, on Tuesday it was the ferris wheel at eight in the morning. They were already onto Friday and they had missed their meeting at three p.m. at the Opera house. Steve and Bucky would have to spend the night traipsing around the streets of Vienna before meeting Sam and Scott the next day at the Belvedere Palace. If Sam and Scott even came. If not, they only had Sunday left for the reunion.</p><p>Steve spent most of the train ride feeling hungry and Bucky spent most of it on the phone. When Steve had asked what he was doing, Bucky told him he was getting them all a place to sleep.</p><p>“Really looks like it won’t be possible till Saturday, so we’ll have to spend the night at some 24/7 joint,” was the only comment he offered and Steve left him to his devices. He had been expecting that. It would be a miracle if Bucky could get them anywhere to sleep. They had fake passports and Visas, but Steve was iffy about staying somewhere where their information was recorded.</p><p>Steve pushed his hat lower on his forehead and nodded off. It was a smooth ride and by the time they made it to Wien Hauptbahnhof, he was sad to say goodbye to the lumps that had been digging into his back during the ride. The Vienna train station was an enormous modern glass building with shops and escalators and giant blue screens announcing train arrivals and departures. They separated on the ground floor. Bucky went to find the nearest toilets and Steve went in search of some food because his stomach was rumbling audibly. He bought a whole bag of sandwiches, snacks and drinks along with four generous helpings of french fries. He went to wait for Bucky in front of the toilet he had seen him disappear in, stuffing fry after fry into his hungry mouth. Not even the smell wafting out of the public toilet could stop him from eating.</p><p>Then he heard a loud noise of something breaking, a few screams and five men, one after the other, running out, one with pants still around his thighs. Steve dropped the fries he was holding and ran inside, eyes casting around to see what was going on.</p><p>“Pассвет,” sounded from one cubicle and Steve shivered so hard he stopped in his tracks.<em> Daybreak.</em></p><p>“Печь,” was the one that followed. <em>Furnace.</em></p><p>The cubicle next to it shuddered with the force of a punch, accompanied by a growl. Steve ran up to the door that Bucky’s trigger words were coming from and threw it open, hinges included. He was expecting to find a sniveling rat of a man, barely able to contain his fear, but there was no one inside.</p><p>“Девять.” <em>Nine.</em></p><p>Steve looked around frantically.</p><p>“Steve?”</p><p>“Bucky, there’s no one here, there—” then Steve’s eyes fell onto a small speaker placed on top of the trashcan. “It’s a speaker, I’ll—” he bent down and picked it up to crush it.</p><p>“Leave it,” Bucky growled over the thin wooden wall, then cursed as the next word sounded out. “I gotta see. I think I can do it.”</p><p>Steve wasted no time in crossing to the other door and throwing it open as well. Bucky was leaning over the toilet, bent over towards the back wall which was lined with multiple crater-like holes where Bucky’s metal fist had landed.</p><p>“Доброкачественные,” sounded from the speaker now in Steve’s hand. Bucky mewled and banged his head on the side wall.</p><p>“Bucky,” Steve called out gently, but firmly. “Bucky look at me.”</p><p>Bucky shook his head</p><p>“Один.” <em>One.</em></p><p>“Come on, Buck.” Blood was pounding in Steve’s veins. One more word. One more word and he’d either be facing the Winter Soldier or an exhausted Bucky Barnes. He didn’t want to fight him, he didn’t think he <em>could</em> fight him again.</p><p>Bucky looked at him just as the last word sounded. <em>Freight car.</em> “Грузовой вагон.”</p><p>Bucky’s eyes fixed onto Steve’s and Steve almost breathed a sigh of relief at the recognition in them, but then they flitted over Steve’s shoulder and all signs of life emptied from them as Bucky ground out, “Готовы соответствовать.”</p><p>
  <em>Ready to comply.</em>
</p><p>Before Steve could react, he was shoved aside with the full force of the metal arm just as a shot rang out. Steve hit the wall hard, his head ringing. He turned, as quickly as the feeling of disorientation would allow, only to find a team of men in tactical gear, with guns trained on the two of them. Neither Bucky nor Steve hesitated.</p><p>Steve threw himself at the legs of the first man, knocking him to the ground and managing to pull the one next to him as he went. His punch to the man’s helmet stung as all hell, but the man immediately stopped moving, soon enough for Steve to kick the second one in the chest, taking his breath away as he punched the daylights out of him. As one of the men started shooting, Steve rolled under the sink. He rolled out the next second as a shot blasted through porcelain. Steve didn’t have his shield to deflect the bullets but he was still fast and the small space was working in his favor. He jumped up, right in front of the shooter, making it impossible for him to change his aim so swiftly. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Bucky deflect a bullet with his metal arm, as he pulled a knife from the pocket and started slashing. Steve took hold of the wrist that held the gun and kicked the man in his groin. He wasn’t above dirty moves when he had to deal with bastards. Steve twisted the agent’s wrist, taking the gun away from him. He kicked this man into unconsciousness as well.</p><p>When he turned, he saw Bucky get rid of another shooter, by punching him in the helmet. Then Bucky turned to the lone man cowering at the other end of the row of sinks.</p><p>When the first shot had been fired in their direction, Bucky had pushed Steve away, but as Steve watched his expression and his gait as he advanced on the cornered agent, Steve wasn’t entirely sure that the trigger words <em>hadn’t</em> worked. Bucky was dressed in comfortable grey sweats and a green zip-up hoodie, the black gloves that Steve had snagged for him from the car back in Romania, firmly on his fingers, but he looked no less dangerous than he had in his Winter Soldier uniform. Bucky swirled the knife in his hand and threw it at the man’s shoulder. The man screamed and dropped the gun. Bucky advanced and took hold of the man’s neck pushing him against the wall.</p><p>“Bucky,” Steve called out, afraid that Bucky would do something rash that he would regret later.</p><p>Bucky ignored him. “How did they get the words?”</p><p>Steve came closer, gun still in hand. Fuck it, he was keeping it. They had some minor weapons in their backpacks but it was mostly shockers and knives. Steve didn’t <em>like</em> guns. They seemed crude, somehow. Crude and cold. But he couldn’t pretend his shield hadn’t killed people in the past. Sometimes in ways he wasn’t necessarily proud of. He grimaced at the memory of having to wipe the edges colored with blood and what looked suspiciously like brain matter.</p><p>Bucky squeezed his hand tighter and the man gasped, pulling Steve back into the present. “I don’t—”</p><p>“Who gave you the fucking words?” Bucky stepped closer and the man got lifted off the ground, scrambling against the wall with his legs and arms.</p><p>“I don’t—what—words.” His eyes flicked to Steve as if he was going to stop Bucky from pressing the issue.</p><p>“Who are you working for?” Steve asked instead.</p><p>In that moment, the walkie talkie on the man’s bulletproof vest crackled to life. “Status?”</p><p>“Who is that?” Bucky slammed the man against the wall.</p><p>“Boss,” the man finally gritted out. He was red in the face, and the veins in his forehead were popping out. “It’s the boss. We’re just—we were paid. All they told us was that it was a cleanup duty. I didn’t—we didn’t <em>know</em>.”</p><p>“Status, Hound Team,” crackled in the air again.</p><p>Bucky forcibly pulled the walkie talkie out of the velcro strap. He pushed a button and barked into it, “Status go fuck yourself.”</p><p>He crushed the device in his flesh hand and let the man go, letting him crumple by his feet, and gasping for breath.</p><p>“Bucky?” Steve needed to know what was going on in Bucky’s head. It was obvious that he was still in there but the words had affected him.</p><p>“I’m fine,” Bucky snapped. He stepped back from the man and cast his eyes around the room, visibly blanching. “Shit.”</p><p>The bathroom was a mess to say the least. Two sinks were broken, one was blown up, the mirrors were all cracked and there was blood on the floor. Not a lot of blood, but enough to make a normal human shudder. Bucky didn’t move. He looked shell-shocked in the way Steve had only ever seen him during the war. He wasn’t sure what had happened after Bucky had heard the words, but Steve suspected that it flicked on the Winter Soldier’s primal response which was violence. It was still Bucky behind the wheel so the damage done to the men was minimal, but Steve suspected that Bucky had blacked out as he had back at Portnova’s house.</p><p>“Hey,” he called Bucky gently. “We gotta go. Another team will be here soon.”</p><p>Steve walked to Bucky’s cubicle. He picked up his backpack then picked up his own, which he had thrown off upon walking in. He held Bucky’s backpack out to him. “Bucky,” he said again when Bucky didn’t even reach out to take it. “We take the backpacks, we get the hell outta here, we find a bush to change our clothes in, put on some glasses, a beanie and go hide under a bridge.”</p><p>Bucky looked at Steve and nodded. “Why a bridge?”</p><p>Steve shook his head. “<em>That’s</em> what you’re focusing on?”</p><p>Bucky finally took the backpack from Steve. He shrugged it on, then rubbed his hands furiously up and down his face, to get himself out of his funk. “Okay.” He breathed in and out. “Okay, let’s get the fuck out of here.”</p><p> </p><p>✩✩✩✩✩✩</p><p> </p><p>Steve took a generous sip of hot tea from the take-away cup. He didn’t feel the cold like he used to unless it was under freezing temperatures, but the mildew was soaking through the running shoes he was wearing and the feeling of wet dirty socks against his skin was far from pleasant. He hadn’t showered since they’d left Crimea and he was starting to smell a bit no matter how diligently he had rubbed his armpits with cold water in every public toilet they could find. With what happened the day before, he was going to be put off toilets too, so he really hoped Bucky had found somewhere for them to stay. Somewhere that wasn’t under the bridge. Steve admitted that had been a bad idea.</p><p>They were walking across the Belvedere gardens, to meet Sam and Scott in front of the palace. Bucky was beside him, not one, but two, take-away cups in his hands. They had stopped in a small family-run cafe and Bucky had ordered two large cups of coffee with the addition of “as much whipped cream as you can get in there, thank you.” Humbly, Steve opted for a herbal tea. They had both changed clothes last night and were wearing jeans instead of sweatpants along with nicely knit sweaters they had bought at one of their stops in Ukraine. They had put on the beanies as well and, although Steve thought Bucky looked extremely fashionable with his hair escaping from under the green hat and the black sunglasses he had put on, Steve felt like a middle-aged skater who refused to grow up and insisted on talking to teenagers in “their lingo” except it was outdated and, instead of making them accept him, it made them cringe.</p><p>Maybe Steve had spent a bit too much time in Prospect Park back in New York.</p><p>Bucky had been quiet all night and morning. They had discussed the events, but only from the strategic point of view, theorizing about the scale of the attack, how many men were behind it, who all knew about it, and trying to determine what their next step should be. Seeing how no sirens had gone off and how no police units had been activated after their escape from the station, Steve didn’t think this attack was organized under government orders. In fact, it seemed that the Austrian government had no involvement at all which by extension meant that the US government probably wasn’t either. The Austrian government could have easily sent the local police after them since Steve had broken the Sokovia Accords and Bucky was a wanted criminal anyway. And if the Austrian government hadn’t had the incentive, the US could have asked them to intervene in the interest of good international relations. “Who then?” Steve had kept asking himself, trying to find the motive behind the events of the past year.</p><p>“Where exactly are we meeting them?” Bucky asked. He took another sip of his coffee then pushed his sunglasses higher on his nose with the rim of the cup because both of his hands were busy. Steve suspected Bucky was sporting a headache caused by the trigger words and his brain fighting so hard against them. Steve could see him squinting even through his sunglasses. He had the same desolate air of despair about him like he used to have back in Brooklyn after a night of one too many glasses of liquor. Steve could still see him blinking his narrowed eyes at the sharp light of the morning sun when Steve opened the kitchen blinds, unwilling to spend the entire day in the dark just because Bucky had decided to get wasted the night before.</p><p>“Steve,” Bucky said, taking Steve’s attention away from his wet shoes which he had been staring at while he was thinking.</p><p>“Hmm?”</p><p>“Where are we meeting Sam and Scott?” Despite the headache, Bucky walked like he didn’t have forty additional pounds weighing on his back. The backpack didn’t seem to bother him at all. Steve, on the other hand, found his own very annoying. He was used to having the shield strapped onto his back, the straps tight around his shoulders and the shield light and non-bothersome.</p><p>“At the north palace. Sam said there’s a big fountain in front.” Steve waved ahead of them. They had finally crossed the expanse of grass and made their way onto the path, lined by prim little bushes. Everything was very geometrical, from the paths to the plants themselves. Steve didn’t appreciate the fakeness of it. It was art, in a way, he knew it, he’d studied it. It still felt empty. A whim of a rich guy who had never learned to appreciate the art of simplicity.</p><p>“You’ve been quiet,” Bucky remarked, taking one last audible slurp from the cup. He cast about for a trash can but found none in the line of sight. Steve extended his arm, offering to take the empty cup. He’d finished his own drink already.</p><p>“<em>You’ve</em> been quiet,” Steve reversed Bucky’s accusation. Both were true.</p><p>“I have a headache.” Bucky waved at his face with his now-free hand.</p><p>“And I am very considerate,” Steve solemnly told him.</p><p>“That’s not something I recall from my past experience of headaches.”</p><p>“Those were your own fault,” Steve reminded him like he had reminded him every morning when he had been throwing open the curtains. “This one isn’t.”</p><p>“Okay,” Bucky nodded, opening the lid of the cup to scoop some of the whipped cream onto the straw. He sucked it into his mouth, tongue flicking around the plastic. Steve had to look away. “But it’s weird. You haven’t complained about your backpack once.”</p><p>“Do you <em>want</em> me to complain?” Steve had been complaining about his backpack a lot. So much, in fact, that he was sick of hearing himself complain about it.</p><p>“It’s entertaining.” Bucky shrugged, dunking the dollop of whipped cream deeper into the milky coffee. It looked very unappealing, but Steve knew that whipped cream was never better than when it was coated in caffeine.</p><p>Steve watched Bucky’s face trying to determine whether he was lying or not. Not finding anything, he sighed, “I hate the backpack, but right now I’m mostly occupied by how disgusting these wet five-day-old socks feel between my fingers. I feel like there’s mold growing in there. I’m afraid to look.”</p><p>“This is why I kept my boots,” Bucky smirked knowingly. They had debated this dilemma back in the Quinjet.</p><p>“Well, you looked ridiculous wearing them with the sweatpants,” Steve reminded him. Bucky had been the first one to complain about <em>that.</em> They’d had this exact conversation except in reverse not a week ago.</p><p>“It’s almost as if things have advantages and disadvantages.” Bucky pinned Steve with a stare. Steve couldn’t see his eyes in this light, but he could tell what his eyes were doing from the expression Bucky’s lower part of the face was making. “And I opted for the lesser evil.”</p><p>“Was it though?” Steve ran his eyes down Bucky’s form and pursed his mouth as if remembering. “You looked very ridiculous.”</p><p>“Yes, well, I look good now.” Bucky fixed a strand of hair. Steve couldn’t disagree. Bucky looked damn good. He was wearing black jeans that he’d tucked into his boots. The cream knitted sweater hugged his torso tightly and the green beanie added a splash of color that emphasized his pink mouth.</p><p>“That’s another thing,” Steve said, tugging on his own beanie. His was purple of all colors. “This hat is so stupid.”</p><p>“It’s a perfectly fine hat, Steve.” Bucky was eyeing him with amusement.</p><p>“It looks like a condom, Bucky.” Bucky nearly choked on his next sip. <em>Bucky’s</em> hat didn’t look like a condom, but Steve had seen himself in the reflection of the windows they had passed by earlier in the morning and could testify that <em>his</em> looked exactly like a condom. “A badly fitting one.”</p><p>Not that Steve knew that much about condoms, he hadn’t really had much use of them in his life, not even in this new world, but he knew enough to know that.</p><p>“It looks nothing like a condom,” Bucky told him indignantly, then coughed, the liquid still stuck in his throat.</p><p>“Well, it makes me look like a dwarf,” Steve continued. Bucky should have known better than encouraging him to complain.</p><p>“Physically speaking, you literally could not be farther from a dwarf than you are now.” Steve knew Bucky was rolling his eyes behind the sunglasses. There was also a tiny smile on his lips. He <em>genuinely</em> enjoyed Steve complaining.</p><p>“Who’s a dwarf?” Came a familiar voice from a few paces ahead of them. Steve looked up.</p><p>“Sam!”</p><p>Sam stepped from the intersecting path followed by Scott who yelled his hello and started waving frantically. When Steve took in Sam’s big smile and his warm eyes, he felt an answering smile spread over his face. God, he’d missed Sam. Without even trying to hold back he stepped into Sam’s open arms.</p><p>“Gotta say I missed you, Cap,” Sam said, as he clapped Steve on his back for good measure. Sam was the only person who Steve let call him Cap because Sam never meant it seriously and he also never meant it derisively. He just called Steve Cap like it was a nickname and Steve liked it. He had never had a nickname before. At least not one that wasn’t insulting.</p><p>“Missed you, too, Sam,” Steve told him as they broke apart.</p><p>“I’m not hugging <em>you.</em>” Sam pointed at Bucky to make it clear who he had meant as if that was any kind of question. Bucky and Sam had developed a very strange friendship underscored by severe hostility. Steve didn’t even pretend to understand how that worked.</p><p>“What about a kiss?” Bucky put on a pout.</p><p>“Not a chance in hell.” Sam shook his head in disgust but he was smiling.</p><p>“I’m willing.” Scott raised his hand behind Sam. “If you want.”</p><p>Bucky didn’t grace him with an answer, he only directed a long-suffering look Steve’s way. Steve ignored him and opted for bidding Scott hello.</p><p>“So…” Sam looked between the two of them. “Who’s the dwarf?”</p><p>“No one.” Steve waved his hand dismissively just as Bucky said, “Steve.”</p><p>Steve sighed. “It’s just this stupid hat, okay. It’s purple <em>and</em> it looks like something the Smurfs would wear.”</p><p>Sam and Scott both tilted their heads in the same way, assessing Steve’s hat. Steve regretted saying anything. He didn’t like people scrutinizing him. It reminded him of the eyes of doctors that had treated him back in Brooklyn. He had always tried to stand up straighter and appear as healthy as possible, and still, they always found something that was wrong with him.</p><p>“It looks fine,” Scott said, but he sounded uncertain.</p><p>“Apparently, it doesn’t look fine. Apparently, it looks like a badly fit—”</p><p>“Bucky,” Steve groaned.</p><p>“Like a badly fitting condom.” Bucky finished his sentence, smirking.</p><p>Sam laughed out loud, his laughter drawing the eyes of a few passers-by. “You said that? Steve Rogers?”</p><p>Bucky nodded as Steve bashfully shrugged. Scott stepped to the side, eyeing Steve’s head from a new angle. “You know what, I can kind of see it.”</p><p>“Thanks, Scott,” Steve said, rather unthankfully. “Can we get moving now?”</p><p>Steve motioned down the path that led away from the palace. The park was already full of tourists, some carrying large backpacks like the four of them, others traveling in big organized groups, the tour guides holding up various objects in order not to lose anyone from the group. Steve did a double-take when he saw one of them holding up a Hulk plushie. When he started walking down the path, he made sure to avoid that group.</p><p>They had stopped for more coffee on Bucky’s request. He claimed caffeine helped with the headache, but Steve didn’t believe a word of that. Bucky was a good liar, but he wasn’t good enough to convince Steve that him clinging to a warm, sugary, creamy cup of joe was anything but purely a comfort thing. Steve could recall the absolutely sticky, disgusting Brooklyn summer mornings when you woke up sweaty and smelly after a night of trying to lie perfectly still. Despite all that Bucky was still in the kitchen every morning, hugging a hot cup of coffee with both of his hands, as if he wasn’t sweating at seven a.m. already.</p><p>“So where are we staying?” Sam asked when they had exhausted their theories. Steve gestured towards Bucky, making a face that told Sam he had no idea.</p><p>“We’re staying in an apartment on the West side of the city,” Bucky said as if that had been obvious all along. He took off his sunglasses, despite the fact that the sun was now actually shining, and put them over his beanie. For some reason, it didn’t look ridiculous on him at all.</p><p>“That looks ridiculous,” Sam told Bucky after he’d glanced at him from the side. Well, Steve supposed Sam was entitled to his own opinions. Bucky only waved his metal arm, a small disinterested whirr accompanying the movement.</p><p>“How did you get the apartment?” Scott asked while he was bending down to collect a stone from the floor. Steve hadn’t really been paying attention, but now that he thought back on their walk, Scott had been picking up stones the whole time. What a strange man.</p><p>“Well, since we can’t book our holidays like normal people, even with fake papers—” Bucky finally found a trash can for all of his paper cups and threw them in with pleasure. Steve followed suit, “—I turned to Couchsurfing.”</p><p>Sam all but stopped in his tracks. “What.”</p><p>“Couchsurfing,” Bucky repeated. “It’s this really cool website where you can—”</p><p>“I know what it is,” Sam stopped him. “I’m just having flashbacks to one time when I was couchsurfing at some guy’s place in Canada and his whole fridge was literally just raw potatoes. I still don’t know what he was doing with them, but it haunts me to this day.”</p><p>“Umm,” Steve felt the need to get involved in the conversation. Not that Steve was afraid of people with fridges full of raw potatoes, but he didn’t think that was another thing they needed on their trip. “What <em>is</em> couchsurfing?”</p><p>This time it was Scott who answered. “It’s this really cool website,” he repeated Bucky’s words, “where you can find people who are willing to host you for free! It’s really popular in Europe. Oh man, this is all I ever wanted. A Eurotrip, going couchsurfing—”</p><p>“Getting attacked by a group of mercenaries in a public toilet,” Steve supplied bitterly.</p><p>“Yeah! Getting attacked by a grou—wait. What?” Scott stopped, his enthusiastic sentence withering into surprise.</p><p>“You got attacked by a group of mercenaries in a public toilet?” Sam echoed Steve’s sentence.</p><p>“Luckily, I hadn’t dropped my pants yet?” Bucky joked but his eyes were scanning the area. Steve could tell he, too, was getting jittery from staying in the same spot for too long.</p><p>“Let’s just get going.” Steve shook his head eager to get moving. “Let’s find this surfer or whatever, I can’t stand this backpack anymore. We’ll fill you in on the way.”</p><p>Bucky turned on the GPS to the location and started leading them there. They decided to walk instead of taking any means of transportation in order to minimize their contact with other people. Steve couldn’t wait to leave the backpack in that couchsurfer’s apartment the next day, not only because it annoyed him but also because they were drawing too much attention.</p><p>Steve and Bucky explained what had happened at the train station the day before. Bucky’s headache seemed to abate as the morning progressed and Steve was happy to see him joining the conversation. They theorized about what could be the motive behind the attack, why they even dug up the trigger words and <em>who</em> did that. Bucky had told them he had been wracking his head trying to come up with a list of people who knew the words or had access to them and he claimed that no more than three people ever had the trigger words. Either he was wrong or there was another file somewhere that he couldn’t recall the existence of. <em>Or</em>, and Steve disliked this option the most, the information had come from the CIA.</p><p>They kept their eyes peeled, but no one seemed to be following them this time. This meant that the perpetrators probably didn’t have access to the city cameras. The operation was small or at least trying to stay covert. And it meant they didn’t want the authorities involved.</p><p>As they walked, the sun started climbing higher and higher up the sky, but despite the fact that he and Bucky were visibly starting to sweat all over their faces, they kept the hats on their heads. Bucky re-introduced the sunglasses to his nose and Steve fished out his own from the backpack. Just like with the beanie, he had pulled the short end of the stick with his sunglasses. They, too, were ridiculous. Bucky was turning out to be a selfish bastard when it came to fashion. Steve was used to Bucky being generous, used to him sharing his food with Steve, always letting him have the bigger half of the apple, the thicker slab of meat. But clothes-related generosity had never been tested before as nothing Steve had worn fit Bucky and the other way around. Sure, Bucky had secretly bought Steve a new coat when his had worn thin—the old coat being one that had belonged to Steve’s father thirty years prior—but the only thing they truly shared was pomade and, well...Bucky <em>had</em> always been quietly selfish about that. Steve nodded to himself, confirming that this was a well-hidden trait that had finally reared its ugly head now that Bucky was able to choose between trendy square sunglasses and an awful rendition of those that Tom Cruise insisted on wearing in every movie.</p><p>As promised, by the time they reached the apartment building they were looking for, Steve and Bucky had managed to fill Sam and Scott in on everything. They told them where they’d left the Quinjet, where they’d lain low, how Bucky got his arm reattached (this part made Sam eye Steve suspiciously, hearing the unease in Steve’s voice). Sam had a lot of follow-up questions about the attack at the train station and Steve described the scene as well as he could. Sam seemed impressed by Bucky’s ability to break through the triggers, but Steve had left out the part about Bucky still blacking out momentarily even if he had managed to hold onto his core self.</p><p>The entrance to the apartment building stood open because a man was cleaning the lobby so the four of them simply walked in with no one questioning them. They ascended the stairs, Sam cursing the lack of an elevator and telling Steve and Bucky to “slow down, man, not all of us are on steroids.” Scott didn’t say anything, but his labored breathing told Steve they really did need to slow down. He knew exactly how Scott felt, he himself having wheezed after Bucky for the first twenty years of his life. He, like Scott, had never said anything, but Bucky always paid attention to Steve’s sharp inhales and slowed down to a snail’s pace no matter how hard Steve tried to convince him he didn’t need to.</p><p>Before he knew, they were on the fifth floor, Bucky’s hand poised above the bell in front of the door.</p><p>“Go along with whatever she says,” was Bucky’s only warning before he pressed the bell.</p><p>“What do you mean go along?” Steve couldn’t help but be suspicious at Bucky’s wording.</p><p>Bucky didn’t have time to respond—and by the looks of it, he didn’t want to either—as the lock skipped and a pretty young woman opened the door.</p><p>“Hi,” Bucky greeted, the rest of them mumbling their hellos too. The woman tilted her head, her large, messy bun dipping to the side as she did it. She was wearing a large plaid shirt, and black leggings with woolen socks pulled up over her calves.</p><p>“Hi?” She greeted, confusion written all over her face.</p><p>“Uhh.” Bucky looked from her to the name on the door. “You <em>are</em> Clara Metzel, right?”</p><p>“Yes?” The woman’s eyebrows shot up as if trying to determine why Bucky would need her at all. This was going as well as Steve had expected a couchsurfing meet to go.</p><p>“We—you offered to host us on couchsurfing,” Bucky explained. Sam was looking at him accusingly, his eyes clearly indicating where the blame laid. Steve was inclined to agree.</p><p>“Oh!” Clara hit her forehead with the palm of her hand. “James, right? Sorry, I’d forgotten!”</p><p>She opened the door wider and showed them in. When Steve walked in past Bucky, Bucky whispered, “I swear I talked to her not two hours ago.”</p><p>When Steve turned around to face the woman, he noticed the large circles under her eyes. Her brown hair looked unwashed and she was pale like she hadn’t eaten anything for hours. Her gaze flitted around the room a bit wildly.</p><p>“Are you?” Steve started. He almost changed his mind but decided there was nothing wrong in asking another human if they were okay. “Are you okay?”</p><p>“Oh, yes, yes.” She turned and trod to the kitchen table which was strewn with papers and empty mugs. There was a laptop there too, the brightness turned down so low it was impossible to tell what was on it. It looked like Clara had been working on something during the night and when the day came, had forgotten to turn the brightness back up. She waved at the table. “I’ve just been writing something. I get a bit too invested. I don't know when I’ve last slept.”</p><p>Steve saw Sam and Scott exchange nervous glances. Bucky took it in stride. “Oh, no worries, as long as it’s still okay we stay here?”</p><p>“Yes, yes, yes, okay, no problem!” Clara nodded, her gaze flying around the room again until she froze and whipped her head in their direction. She pinned them with her stare, then scanned them, top to bottom. She tilted her head, making her bun slip sideways again. “So you said you were—”</p><p>“Yeah, yeah, just here for a quick show,” Bucky waved his hand, a charming smile on his face. Steve turned his head further in his direction, narrowing his eyes. Apparently, they were in Austria for a show.</p><p>“I hope you win!” Clara clapped her hands.</p><p>A show they were apparently <em>competing</em> <em>in.</em> Sam’s distrustful stare also focused more fully on Bucky. Bucky pretended not to see it and instead took off his backpack. “So, where can we put—”</p><p>“You <em>do</em> have muscles,” Clara said, eyeing the flex of Bucky’s biceps. He was wearing a long-sleeved t-shirt and gloves, but there was no mistaking his muscular build. Then Clara turned her eyes on Steve. Steve wanted to melt into the background. He crossed his arms, subconsciously seeking protection.</p><p>“Wow,” Clara breathed, nodding at Steve’s chest. “Yeah, nice pair.”</p><p>Sam choked on his breath and Bucky didn’t even try to contain his smirk as Steve crossed his arms even closer together, feeling his face heat up. When he realized what squeezing his arms was doing to his chest, he dropped them, mortified. Bucky’s smirk widened. Steve felt like couldn’t be blamed for his instinctual protective reaction. He’d spent all his life with a skeletal chest.</p><p>“Don’t worry,” Clara shook her head, “this is a purely scientific interest. I’m a writer. <em>And</em> a lesbian.”</p><p><em>Oh.</em> Steve didn’t know what to reply to that. He’d never met anyone like that. Well, he’d never met anyone who just proclaimed being like that. Not wanting to be rude, he cleared his throat and said, “Okay.”</p><p>Clara lifted one bushy eyebrow but didn’t comment on Steve’s lukewarm response. Instead, she tapped her pointer finger against her lips. “Does this mean you’ll be downing whole cartons of raw eggs in the morning?”</p><p>“Why—uh, why would we—” Scott started but got interrupted by Clara.</p><p>“Ugh!” She opened her mouth, putting on a scandalized expression. She whispered, “Are you going to be prancing around here in your tiny thongs practicing poses?”</p><p>Steve glared at Bucky, turning his neck further, feeling like an owl wringing its head around. Out of the corner of his mouth, he gritted, “Bucky. Why. Does this woman think. We’ll be walking around. <em>In thongs?</em>”</p><p>“Tiny thongs, Steve,” Sam hissed through his teeth in the same tone. “You forgot the tiny part.”</p><p>Clara didn’t seem to hear their exchange, she was on a roll as only a severely underslept person could be. High on insomnia. Steve knew how that felt. He was sure the next time she would sit down she’d fall asleep.</p><p>“You’re really pale,” she blabbered on quickly. Pointing at Sam, she said, “Not you, you look wonderful. But like you three. I thought you were supposed to be tan. Are you going to slather tanning cream on yourselves in my bath? Because I tried that and it’s a bitch to clean.”</p><p><em>Tanning cream?</em> Steve was pale, but he hadn’t really thought he had any need for a tanning cream. A tiny thought started nagging somewhere deep in his brain, like it was announcing the solution to the mystery of what Clara was talking about, but he couldn’t quite grasp it so he simply stood in the middle of her living room, his backpack still on—and hadn’t he said he would get rid of this backpack as soon as he entered the apartment?—staring open-mouthed at the young woman riding the wave of sleep-deprivation hysteria.</p><p>“Oh, wow,” Clara said, but this time it wasn’t in an awe-struck voice. She was looking right at Steve’s legs. Steve fidgeted on the spot. “You really shouldn't skip leg day.”</p><p>Steve bristled. He couldn’t help but feel slightly offended. His legs were <em>fine.</em> Like yeah, they weren’t thick like Sam’s, and, yeah, Tony sometimes made fun of them, and, yeah, Steve had a really small ass, okay, he did. He always had. It was small, but it was <em>perky</em> if he could say so himself. In fact, Bucky had once told him that exact thing way, way back, before they’d even finished high school. He’d said it in a jokey way, an offhand comment, but he had blushed after and Steve had never forgotten it.</p><p>“<em>You</em> have good legs.” She pointed at Sam’s lower body and Steve could see him preen despite his annoyance and confusion. Bucky was barely containing his laughter.</p><p>“And what about you?” Clara nodded in Scott’s direction. He stood up straighter but still appeared more terrified than he had when the attention hadn’t been on him. Clara flicked her eyes over Scott and frowned. “You definitely aren’t a bodybuilder.”</p><p>A bodybuilder.</p><p>“<em>A bodybuilder,</em>” Steve’s whisper sounded shrill even to his own ears.</p><p>“<em>A bodybuilder,</em>” Sam mouthed.</p><p>Scott, having been put on the spot like he was, dropped the snapback hat that he was holding. “I...uhh, no. No bodybuilder.” He shook his head, nervously casting about for an answer. “I, uhh, I take photos! I take their photos for Instagram.”</p><p>Oh, great. Now, they had Instagram, too. Steve wished he were back at the train station punching the bad guys. It had been much less stressful. A fucking <em>bodybuilder.</em> Unlike Steve, Clara seemed satisfied with the answer. She nodded vigorously, then turned on her heel so fast she almost keeled over. She caught herself in the last moment and stumbled to the kitchen, as if drunk.</p><p>“Do you drink coffee? Like is that a part of your diet or do you just live off chicken breast?” She didn’t wait for their answers. The fancy coffee machine whirred to life without her sparing them a glance.</p><p>Even Bucky who had gotten them into this mess looked a bit dumbfounded at the turn of events. He cleared his throat. “Yes, in fact, my diet is pretty much 30% coffee.”</p><p>“Gut. Gut, gut, gut,” Clara muttered under her breath, slipping into German for the first time that day. Steve wanted to take off his backpack, but he felt too emotionally stunned to move.</p><p>“Bodybuilders,” he repeated for the god-knows-which time into the empty air. “You told her we were bodybuilders.”</p><p>“It’s the only reasonable explanation,” Bucky shrugged.</p><p>“How about ‘buddies traveling Europe’, huh, Barnes?” Sam didn’t sound quite as annoyed as Steve would have expected. He was sure Sam was still preening over the praise his legs got. “That didn’t cross your mind?”</p><p>“We’re big guys, well, three big guys—sorry Lang—and I was expecting people to be wary of us if we didn’t give some sort of an explanation.”</p><p>“Why couldn’t we have been powerlifters?” Steve really would have preferred to be a powerlifter.</p><p>“Bodybuilders seemed a lot more fun?” Bucky explained it away, fixing his hair. Steve and he both still had the beanies on, and Steve’s head was turning into a swamp.</p><p>“I didn’t have fun,” Steve felt the need to let Bucky know. He flicked another angry glare at him. In retrospect, it was kind of fun, but he wasn’t going to let Bucky know.</p><p>“I did,” Scott piped up. “Was kind of surprised by the impromptu improv I had to do at the end there, but, wow, was it fun!”</p><p>“I also had fun,” Bucky confirmed as if Steve couldn’t have told from the amused smirk that he hadn’t dropped for the past ten minutes. “Especially that part about thongs. We should try it one day.”</p><p>“Over my dead body,” Steve grumbled as the smell of coffee wafted through the air.</p><p>“You’d look good in a thong.” Bucky’s voice was just a bit too serious for Steve’s liking.</p><p>“I thought the standing observation was that Steve has chicken legs?” Sam was smirking as he said it.</p><p>Before Steve was able to complain about all the smirking directed at him, Clara shouted, “Coffee!!!” so loudly they could have been in the adjacent apartment not the same room. When she started pouring the black liquid into the cups, Steve finally took his backpack off, letting it fall at his feet. He rolled his neck. It wasn’t stiff, precisely, his body didn’t get stiff like it used to, but a feeling of long-awaited relief still accompanied the movement.</p><p>They sat down behind Clara’s small kitchen table, cramming against each other, shoulders and elbows touching. Clara brought them the cups and threw some plastic cups of cream onto the table and then sat down with a mug of her own. Before she even took a sip, she leaned onto her palm, her elbow supported by the table and, as soon as her cheek hit the palm of her hand, her eyes fluttered shut. In under five seconds, she was fast asleep. Neither of the four men knew whether the polite thing to do would be to wake her up or let her sleep, so they just sipped their coffee and watched her head slowly slip lower and lower off her palm until it hit the desk.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Nothing much to say here bar from the fact, I want everyone to know Budapest is my favourite city in the world. I made some great memories there &lt;3</p><p>If you like the fic, reblog this <a href="https://synonym-for-life.tumblr.com/post/637779254866837504/a-hat-a-horse-a-hyundai-and-the-will-to-ride">Tumblr post</a> or this <a href="https://twitter.com/anotherstuckybb/status/1339754748350767104">Twitter post</a> to spread the word! :*</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. A Cowboy Saves His Breath For Breathing</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>A little bit of sexy times, a little bit of angsty times.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>There is a small Alpine French town called Briançon mentioned in this chapter when Bucky remembers one of their missions during the war. You can read more about this town<a href="http://www.ajpn.org/commune-Briancon-en-1939-1945-5023.html">here.</a></p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Wake her up,” Bucky whispered at Steve. </p><p>“You wake her up,” Steve hissed back. They had moved to sit on Clara’s couch in the living room, waiting for her to rouse. It had been two hours and she was still lying on the table face down, the mug of cold coffee sitting next to her hand. </p><p>“Wilson,” Bucky turned his head towards Sam, “wake her up.”</p><p>“Nope.” Sam popped his ‘p’, shaking his head. The four of them were squeezed tight together on the couch, their shoulders pushing against each other. </p><p>“Lang, you wake her up,” Bucky tried. There was no answer. “Lang?” </p><p>Bucky and Steve both leaned forward, glancing at the end of the couch. Scott’s head had lolled back against the backrest, his mouth open in a soundless snore. Bucky groaned. He turned back to Steve. Glaring. Steve glared back. He wasn’t going to be the one to wake her up. Sure it would be nice to know where they would sleep, the apartment was small and Steve was eying its apparent lack of space with apprehension, but Sam, always the voice of reason, had prohibited them from snooping. Steve had to admit that he was getting really, really bored. </p><p>“Bucky?” he quietly spoke. Bucky looked at him with suspicion. “I think you should wake her up.” </p><p>Bucky hit him in the thigh none-too-gently. “You—” he wiggled out from between Steve and Sam, “—are a pain in my ass, Rogers. Fine, I’m waking this woman up but only because you have been jittering literally ever since we sat down and my brain is still getting aftershocks from sitting next to you.” </p><p>He straightened up, flattening his wrinkled shirt. With a last ugly look at the couch, he stalked off to Clara. When he came to stand in front of her, he frowned, suddenly at a loss for what to do. He was hesitant to touch her, probably because he hated it when someone shook him from his sleep. Steve knew how that felt. </p><p>“Pst, pst,” he called instead. Clara didn’t move. “Pst, pst, pssst.”</p><p>“Is he making cat sounds at her?” Sam’s voice was incredulous as it floated to Steve. </p><p>“Yes, yes, he is,” Steve confirmed Sam’s suspicions, snorting. He had been used to Bucky being incredibly skilled at human-human interactions, but this new occasional awkwardness was highly entertaining. And cute, if he could say so. </p><p>Bucky continued making the sounds, occasionally sending panicked glances towards the couch when Clara didn’t so much as stir. </p><p>“Maybe you should bark,” Sam suggested, earning himself a middle finger. Steve had to stifle his laughter with the palm of his hand. </p><p>“Hey, Clara,” Bucky continued with his futile efforts, “Clara, Clara, CLARA!”</p><p>Three things happened simultaneously: Bucky clapped his hand over his mouth, surprised at how loud his shout had been, Clara shot straight up in her chair, legs scrambling, and Scott yelped and fell from the edge of the couch. Clara looked around wildly searching for the source of the noise. She didn’t have to look far with Bucky standing as close as he was. Steve thought she might spook even further when she saw him towering over her, but she relaxed her shoulders, sagging with relief. When she blinked up at him, she still didn’t look as awake as Steve had hoped she would be for this conversation. </p><p>“Morgen,” she mumbled at Bucky. </p><p>“Umm, it’s actually one in the afternoon but ok,” Bucky informed her. “We were wondering where we could put our things and where we will sleep.” </p><p>“Oh,” she squinted at him bleary-eyed. Her hand started to tap around on the table, searching for something. “You can take the couch no problem.”</p><p>Four sets of eyes met, apprehensively looking from the couch to each other. </p><p>“Does it, uh, pull open?” Bucky asked, fearing the answer. </p><p>“No,” was all Clara had time to say. She had found what she was looking for, having hit the mug with the edge of her palm. She brought the cold coffee to her lips and gulped it down like it was a cup of orange juice on a hot summer day. </p><p>“There’s...umm, there’s four of us,” Bucky tried to reason with her again. She merely looked between them in confusion as if not really understanding what the problem was. “Most of us don’t really sleep well sitting up.”</p><p>“Ohhhh,” Clara nodded wide-eyed. “You can take my bed then. I usually crash on the couch anyway. If I make it there. I have a draft to hand in <em>next week.</em>” </p><p>With that, she turned to look at the mess on the table and panickedly started sorting the pieces of paper with handwritten notes and diagrams on them. There were a few sketches of strange creatures there as well, if Steve’s eyes didn’t deceive him. She immersed herself in her work so quickly and so intensely that, for what it was worth, they had ceased to exist in her eyes.</p><p>After a while of being completely ignored, they decided to look for the elusive bedroom. It turned out to be a nice, fairly large, airy bedroom with large windows and a balcony. Posters of fantasy creatures and swords lined the walls and the shelves hosted a number of small figurines and an incredible amount of books. The only strange thing in the room was the mattress which was still wrapped up in plastic. There were blankets thrown haphazardly over it and there was only one pillow. Sam, Steve and Bucky stood by the side of the bed, staring at it. Sam pointed a finger at the store-wrapped mattress, opening and closing his mouth. The only one who didn’t find anything weird with it was Scott who had gone on to explore the balcony. </p><p>“Is this woman okay?” Sam finally got out. Steve thought that Sam, as a counselor, should know the answer to that question. </p><p>They didn’t address the issue further, preferring to ignore the strangeness. Bucky and Steve were the first to shower as, according to Sam, they smelled the worst. Steve was happy to note there was also a washing machine in the bathroom. He didn’t think he had a single clean t-shirt left. They agreed it was best for Bucky and Steve to stay inside as much as possible. If they were lucky, no one had noticed that Sam and Scott were with them and they would be able to pass under the radar. That was why Sam and Scott were sent out for groceries alone with a long list of things they had to buy. Steve had pushed a few shockers into Sam’s hand when they were leaving.</p><p>“Already have those,” Sam laughed, shaking his head. “I’ll explain later.” </p><p>It was then that Steve had realized he had no idea where Sam and Scott had been all this time. When Steve and Bucky had dropped them off in the mountains with the Quinjet, Sam had only smiled at him and told him he knew what he was doing, but never explained further. Scott and Sam also looked a lot less worse-for-wear than Bucky and Steve did. </p><p>“I’m assuming you also already have a phone then?” Steve asked. </p><p>“Oh, yeah, Nat took care of that.” Sam nodded as he was putting on his shoes. </p><p>“Nat?” If Sam was in contact with Natasha, that was a good thing. That was an excellent thing. Not because Steve needed Natasha for this mission but because he had realized with a pang in his chest that he missed her. </p><p>“Tell you later!” Sam shouted from the doorway, already on his way out of the apartment with Scott on his heels. They knew that Clara would probably be willing to share some food with them, but one single person couldn't hold as much food in the apartment as four guys needed. </p><p>Steve and Bucky opted for taking a seat on the balcony, enjoying what had turned out to be a beautiful, warm early spring day. There were two squeaky plastic chairs there and a small table with an ashtray in the middle. Steve didn’t know whether Clara was the one who smoked or some of her friends did, but there were still some ashes inside. </p><p>Steve and Bucky settled into their chairs, scanning the view in silence. The balcony was overlooking a smaller road with a park next to it. People and cars were milling below, the intense green of spring above them and the Danube river in the background. All of a sudden, Steve was hit by an intense wave of longing, the kind he hadn’t felt since the first time he had lain alone in the new apartment, in a new bedroom, on a new mattress and nothing, <em>nothing</em> was right. Not the sounds from the street, not the rumbling of the cars, not the clanging (or the lack of) of pipes, not the smoothness of the sheets against his skin and not the intense wave of loneliness that brought tears to his eyes, instantly and forcefully. </p><p>He wasn’t intending to speak up, much less say what he said, but it spilled out of him like tears had that night. “I mourned you.” </p><p>It was a sad echo of what he’d told Bucky back in Budapest. <em>I’ve missed you. Every day. </em>It was no less true. In fact, he supposed they went hand in hand.</p><p>This time Bucky didn’t reply with the same thing, but the tone of his answer was just as soft and just as sad. “Sometimes I feel like you still are.” </p><p>Steve knew his face was that of shock, but he couldn’t find the strength to school his expression. He opened his mouth to deny it but shut it quickly. He couldn’t. He couldn’t deny it in good conscience. He did mourn Bucky. He mourned him still. He mourned their life, he mourned their Brooklyn and he mourned himself. </p><p>“Is that bad?” He finally asked, voice straining as he tried to calm the wave of emotions. </p><p>“Isn’t it?” Bucky’s shoulders were tense, hunched in. </p><p>“Don’t we deserve it?” Steve knew how it sounded. Mourning a person who was sitting right in front of you. Mourning <em>yourself.</em></p><p>“We?” Bucky finally met his eyes with a guarded expression.</p><p>“Yes.” In an ideal world, Steve would reach across the small table to grasp Bucky’s hand in his. It wasn’t an ideal world, but it was damn close since he had Bucky on the other side. He was the luckiest bastard alive. “Don’t we deserve to be mourned? We—Bucky, we had a life. We had a whole damn life before this. And I wouldn’t change a single thing, I wouldn’t change a single thing if it got me here, but we had a <em>whole damn life.</em>” </p><p>People changed all their lives, but Steve and Bucky had <em>been </em>changed and Steve felt like they deserved a little bit of grief for that. Bucky stayed quiet for a long time, avoiding Steve’s gaze. His hair had fallen forward from his bun and Steve couldn’t be sure, but he thought he could see tears prickling in the corners of his eyes. It took a lot of time for Bucky to collect himself, but when he did, his gaze fell to the ashtray on the table. </p><p>“I used to smoke,” he said, voice a little bit rough. He placed his hands around the ashtray and slid it from side to side a couple of times. “Thought I was so cool.”</p><p>Steve smiled. That was more open self-awareness than young Bucky had ever had. That Bucky wouldn’t be caught dead admitting he only <em>thought</em> he was cool. </p><p>“Could always count on you putting me back in my place.” Bucky smiled, throwing Steve a brief look.</p><p>“Someone had to keep you in line or your head would have exploded from how big it got right around that time you got your first kiss.” Steve felt like it was better to let the heaviness of the moment go. With their track record of being terribly equipped to deal with feelings, they should be proud of getting out as much as they had. “Linda Duncan, I think she was.”</p><p>“No.” Bucky’s expression morphed from thoughtful to confused. He shook his head. </p><p>“No?” Steve was fairly sure he got that right. He had kept an embarrassingly close tab on Bucky’s conquests back in the day. </p><p>“No,” Bucky insisted. </p><p>“What do you mean no?” Bucky’s conviction was making Steve confused. He furrowed his eyebrows. </p><p>“I got my first kiss from you,” Bucky said matter-of-factly. Both of his hands were gripping the ashtray.</p><p>“No, you didn’t.” Steve <em>knew</em> this. Hydra’s meddling with Bucky’s brain must have made him mix up the memories. </p><p>“I think I would know that.” Bucky finally drew back his intense gaze and Steve could breathe again.</p><p>“Not for a lack of trying—” Steve tilted his head in a suggestive way, “—but you only got your first kiss at fourteen and a half by Linda Duncan behind the bleachers after a school game of baseball.” </p><p>Steve fucking <em>knew </em>that. At the time, he hadn’t known why he was so intense about keeping this information accurate, but Steve had imprinted the day Bucky told him about his first kiss into his mind. </p><p>“Linda Duncan barely gave me a peck on the cheek.” Bucky rolled his eyes. </p><p>“That’s not what you told <em>me</em>.” Steve sat back, suddenly incensed. The chair squeaked in protest. </p><p>“I thought I had.” Bucky swallowed. “Maybe we should go back to the sad stuff, this is going to end up much too embarrassing for me.” </p><p>“Bucky,” Steve’s tone carried a note of warning. “There wasn’t only Linda Duncan, there was also Alice Hunt and Francis Nelson.” </p><p>“Alice tried to kiss me, but I didn’t actually like her so I pushed her away,” Bucky mumbled, his voice barely audible. “And all Francis did was hold my hand.”</p><p>“Why did you tell me you kissed them all then?!” Steve felt really, really betrayed. </p><p>“I don’t know!” Bucky threw his hands in the air, a gesture Steve had rarely seen in these past few weeks, but which always made him smile because Bucky only did it when he couldn’t contain his composure. Steve liked breaking Bucky’s composure very much. “You just...you were looking at me all eager to hear the news, like all wide-eyed and attentive, wanting to hear an exciting story, so I just… told you an extended version of it.”</p><p>“An <em>extended version </em>of it?” Steve had forgotten the weight of their earlier conversation, incredulity taking over. He knew Bucky was partially right. Before he and Bucky had...started up with their...arrangement, Steve had been eager to hear Bucky’s stories and his advice on how to woo girls. It had seemed like such a secret exciting thing that he wanted to know every detail about it. </p><p>“You kept probing and probing!” Bucky ran his hand through his hair, visibly uncomfortable at the turn of events. </p><p>“I did not!” Steve denied it anyway because <em>that </em>was embarrassing for <em>him. </em>Fine, so maybe he wasn’t as Victorian over personal matters as he liked to believe. Especially ones that didn’t concern him. He had been a curious kid; who could blame him? </p><p>“What are you two arguing about now?” Sam called from the doorway to the bedroom, making Steve flinch in his seat. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t heard Sam and Scott come back home. </p><p>“Nothing,” he and Bucky said at the same time then looked at each other conspiratorially, an instinct from days past that hadn’t changed. Sam rolled his eyes.</p><p>“You two argue <em>a lot</em>,” he remarked, looking between them as if trying to figure out where this behavior was coming from. </p><p>Bucky shrugged and pushed himself out of the plastic chair. “I’m going to make us a bunch of sandwiches because I am starving. Plus, I can’t stand this conversation any longer, Steve is insufferable.”</p><p>Without further ado, he squeezed inside past Sam. Steve couldn’t help but smile, the corner of his mouth turning up in a happy curl. He had been Bucky’s first kiss and Bucky was his. Steve wasn’t the kind of guy to get hung up on ‘firsts’, but this felt monumental in a way he couldn’t even explain to himself. </p><p>He was called back to reality by Sam’s eyebrows rising high on his forehead. </p><p>“What?” Steve asked. </p><p>“Hmm…” Sam tilted his head, then shook it. “Nothing.”</p><p>Steve highly suspected that that was payback for his and Bucky’s own secretiveness, but he suspected he didn’t even want to know what Sam was thinking. </p><p>“Good.” He stood up too. “‘Cause I have to do the laundry.”  With that he escaped to the bathroom, eternally grateful that clothes couldn’t psychoanalyze his every move. </p><p>✩✩✩✩✩✩</p><p> </p><p>Steve woke up early, unable to sleep on the plastic that kept shushing whenever someone moved. Not to mention he had been alert the entire night because the edge of the bed was very, very close at all times, and every time he moved a limb he was afraid he would gracelessly topple off. Sam and Scott had insisted that they would take the middle, leaving Bucky and Steve exposed to danger. Their logic for that was twofold: one they were more likely to actually injure themselves if they fell off, not just embarrass themselves like Steve and Bucky would, and two, the four of them hadn’t managed to procure any extra blankets bar the one that was already on the bed, so Scott and Sam wanted to have two warm high-metabolism bodies at each side. </p><p>Having completed his role as a radiator, Steve rose when dawn started breaking. Sam had been breathing into his shoulder and Steve was pretty sure there was a wet patch on his t-shirt which meant that Sam had, at one point during the night, drooled on him. The other side of the bed was just as busy, with Scott attaching himself to Bucky’s back, spooning him from behind. Steve had heard many a “Lang stop, Lang stop assaulting me, oh, for fuck’s sake,” coming from that side of the bed in the night. Bucky had apparently given in and begrudgingly accepted the cuddles. </p><p>Bleary-eyed, Steve made it to the bathroom. He relieved himself then set out to brush his teeth. Just as he pushed the toothbrush into his mouth a knock sounded from the narrow bathroom door. </p><p>“Yeah?” Steve mumbled around the brush. The door creaked and Bucky let himself in without further inquiring whether he should wait or not. His hair was messy from sleep, but he’d put half of it into a messy bun at the crown of his head, letting the rest fall onto his shoulders. </p><p>“I heard you escape and decided to follow suit,” Bucky explained. “Took me some time to untangle, though. Lang makes for a very convincing backpack.” </p><p>Steve laughed through the toothpaste foam gathering in his mouth. He spit. “Sam drooled on my shoulder pretty much all night.” </p><p>Bucky took his own toothbrush from the toiletry bag that they shared and slathered a generous helping of paste onto it. “You know what this reminds me of?” At Steve’s raised eyebrows that were urging him to go on, he continued. “Briançon.” </p><p>Steve nodded, smiling at the memory. “September 1944.”</p><p>“After we helped the townspeople liberate their town, one woman took us in.” Bucky continued talking even with a toothbrush in his mouth, occasionally stroking his teeth with it. “She had the smallest house, two spare beds, but no heating in that room. It was so cold there in September like it was in Brooklyn in the middle of January. But she had these huge goose feather duvets. Thick as nothing you’ve ever seen before. And we bundled ourselves beneath them, you, me, Falsworth and Jones, the other guys taking the second bed, and we slept like babies. Hadn’t slept like that since 1942.”</p><p>“That was the thickest duvet I’ve ever seen in my life. It felt like being wrapped up in a cloud.” Steve spoke, then spit the rest of the toothpaste out and rinsed his mouth. “But are you saying <em>today</em> was the best sleep you’ve got since then?”</p><p>This time it was Bucky’s mouth that was full of foam. He shook his head, mumbling so much Steve barely understood him, “Jus’ same ‘mount-a crammed.” </p><p>“Moreso,” Steve told him as he tapped his mouth dry with a towel. “Falsworth was playing a starfish the entire night. Think he actually kicked Jones off the bed at one point.” </p><p>Bucky wasn’t done washing his teeth yet, but Steve didn’t feel like leaving, so he stood at the side awkwardly watching Bucky’s reflection in the mirror as he laughed. He was wearing a long-sleeved t-shirt. He had put it on in case Clara had come into the room for whatever reason. He couldn’t risk showing his metal arm to anyone, so he would have to wear the gloves when she woke up too. Bucky wrapped up his brushing too, setting the brush onto the sink, but otherwise not moving. He met Steve’s eyes in the mirror. It was somehow easier this way, looking at each other, as if they were a photo or a painting, complex, yet, at once, two dimensional. As if they didn’t quite have a story, as if who they were could be left to the imagination. </p><p>Bucky turned, breaking the barrier between the worlds, making it all flood back in, drawing Steve around to meet his gaze eye to eye. It was different, looking at someone when you couldn’t see yourself. You ceased being who you thought you were and became someone else, someone this person knew, someone greater than the thought of you. You became real once you were seen by someone else’s eyes. And Steve had never felt more real than when Bucky was looking at him. </p><p>“Steve, I—” Bucky started and Steve didn’t think Bucky had even known what he was going to say before he dropped the sentence. Steve swallowed. He could feel the familiar tension, the coiling in his stomach, the heat that was climbing up his chest, up his neck. Bucky licked his lips, stepping closer and Steve’s whole body caught fire just from that, just from this look he’d known so well. Want. </p><p>“Yeah?” Steve asked because he had to be sure, because Bucky had said no not long ago and Steve would never have asked it of him ever again unless explicitly told to. </p><p>“Yeah,” Bucky whispered as he stepped closer, pressing himself against Steve, his hands landing on his hips as their chests touched, Bucky’s lips soft against the shell of Steve’s ear.</p><p>“I want—” Bucky stopped, when Steve’s hand sneaked around his waist, palm against the curve of Bucky’s back. It was so firm. So much firmer than he remembered. Bucky followed suit, wrapping his left arm around Steve’s waist too, slotting them closer, knees between each other’s legs. “I wanna know if this still makes your knees give out.” </p><p>That said he swiped his tongue along the shell of Steve’s ear and Steve’s knees did, indeed, get weak, his entire body shuddering. He took a firm hold of Bucky’s t-shirt, as his eyes rolled into his head when Bucky bit his earlobe. Bucky chuckled against his ear and that didn’t help the matter, the soft sound tickling his skin. </p><p>“Tha’s just—” Steve had to swallow, “that’s jus’ playin’ dirty.” </p><p>Steve had never been one to back down from a challenge, though. He let the hand that was gripping Bucky’s waist slide lower, down over his narrow hips where his t-shirt met the top of his sweats. He thumbed at the fabric until it opened up for him. </p><p>“Bastard,” Bucky whispered into his ear as his whole body shuddered. Steve ran his thumb over the edge of the sweatpants towards the trail of hair on Bucky’s lower stomach then back. Taking a firmer hold of his hip, he dipped his finger inside and ran it feather-light along the tender skin where Bucky’s thigh met his hip. Bucky’s grip on him tightened. Steve thumbed the sensitive area gently again, then pressed his thumbnail sharply into the skin. Bucky cursed and his hips bucked as if marveling in the pinprick sensation, wanting more. He was hard in his pants, and <em>Jesus fucking Christ</em> Steve wanted him so much. He wanted to touch, to lick, to feel every single part of Bucky, map new paths along his body, and trace the memories of old ones. </p><p>Steve pressed his thigh more firmly against Bucky’s groin, putting pressure on the bulge there, amazed by how it was his thigh that Bucky rubbed against and not his hip like he used to when Steve was smaller. Steve put some space between them, defying Bucky’s strong grip. Without stalling, he pushed his whole hand behind the fabric, making sure his knuckles caressed the inch of skin above the dark hair. Bucky sucked in a sharp breath but didn’t have time to let it out because Steve’s hand slid lower, wrapping around the hard length. That was familiar. The way his thumb wrapped around the top of the base, his other fingers, underneath, the unexpected smoothness of it. </p><p>“Jesus, Stevie,” Bucky breathed against his neck this time, mouthing along the vein there. Steve knew it must have been beating hard against Bucky’s lips what with how much his heart was racing. Steve moved his hand, foreskin gliding along the shaft as he did. Bucky’s hand slid over his torso, along his ribs and then down his pants as well. He palmed Steve’s dick while pushing into Steve’s fist simultaneously. Steve’s grip faltered at Bucky’s touch, losing rhythm. </p><p>“Stop,” he shook his head against Bucky’s, his temple sliding along Bucky’s hair. “You know I can’t—” Steve gasped as Bucky thumbed at the head. “Know I can’t—<em>fuck</em>—focus if you do it too.”</p><p>“Still?” Bucky’s shit-eating smirk stretched along Steve’s jaw.</p><p>“Yes, <em>still</em>, shut up.” Mercifully, Bucky let him go, hand traveling up and around Steve’s torso again. </p><p>Steve pulled him closer still, angling the movement of his hand up, making a twisting motion. Bucky’s hips flew forward and the grip of the metal hand on Steve’s bicep got so firm, he could feel his blood flow struggle. </p><p>“Not so smug now, huh?” Steve grumbled into Bucky’s ear. The only answer he received was a choked off groan. Steve gave Bucky a few firm, quick strokes, then loosened his hold into an easy fist, knowing how much it drove Bucky crazy, knowing just how much Bucky got off to fucking himself into Steve’s hand, seeking stimulation, his thrusts becoming sharper and sharper. </p><p>“Steve, Steve god-fucking-dammit,” Bucky cursed into Steve’s skin, his breaths coming sharp and quick. Steve took mercy on him and tightened his hold just a little bit, just enough to give him something to go on. The roll of Bucky’s hips didn’t falter for a second, only got greedier and messier, until he was spilling across Steve’s fingers and against the fabric of his pants. Steve twisted his hand along with Bucky’s spasms until Bucky hissed from over-stimulation.</p><p>Before Steve could even figure out what to do with his messy hand and before Bucky so much as caught his breath, he was being pushed back into the sink. Both of Bucky’s hands slid past Steve’s hips, behind his ass and under. The muted clang of Bucky’s metal arm hitting the ceramic hadn’t even had the chance to stop echoing as Steve was hoisted up and onto the edge of the sink, scrambling to keep purchase. Bucky’s mouth slotted against Steve’s throat, insistent, searching, and Steve, lost in Bucky’s pleasure moments before, was instantly so fucking <em>hard </em>he thought he might shoot just from Bucky’s mouth on his neck. His ass slid down right into the sink, his back hitting the pipe. </p><p>“Bucky,” he tried, when he finally got a breath in. Bucky swallowed it right up. “Bucky, you don’t have to—later—they’re gonna wake up.”</p><p>“Don’t care,” Bucky muttered against Steve’s neck, the scratch of his stubble sending shivers down Steve’s spine. “You haven’t come yet.”</p><p>“Yeah, it’s, yeah, no—” Steve stopped babbling and concentrated on squeezing his eyes and mouth shut because Bucky’s palm was against his dick again, and sweatpants had never felt this good on Steve’s skin in his entire life. Steve didn’t have much time to marvel at the moment. Bucky’s fingers had slipped into his waistband and tugged it down until it was resting against Steve’s thighs, his dick making contact with the chilly air. Steve shivered, but not for long. Bucky mouthed along his collarbone for a second longer, then bent his head, strands of hair that had fallen from his bun fanning over Steve’s white t-shirt. </p><p>“Bucky, seriously, the sink—” Steve gasped, toes curling as Bucky’s mouth swallowed him whole, without even a warning lick, which Steve was sure was considered bad blow job etiquette. </p><p>“The sink—” Steve tried again, digging his fingers into Bucky’s scalp as he moaned, “—we’re gonna break the sink.” </p><p>Steve wasn’t a hundred and ten pounds anymore. He weighed a fucking ton compared to regular people but Bucky seemed not to have felt any of it, manhandling Steve in a way Steve hadn’t thought anyone ever would again. And Steve <em>liked it</em>. He hated to admit it because he’d spent all his life fighting against being weak, had hated feeling like any breeze could knock him over, had hated feeling powerless. Whenever Bucky manhandled him like this back then, Steve got mad, spitting that he could move on his own perfectly well. Bucky had always apologized, but Steve could tell that he knew he liked it. He knew because when Steve had been dizzy with booze and Bucky had pushed him against the wall and took his thighs in his hands, lifting Steve up as he kissed him so hard that Steve’s head banged against the wall, Steve had whispered <em>please</em>. He’d whispered it right against Bucky’s open mouth, right against his tongue as the world around them was tilting. It was no different now. Sitting sideways in the sink, the pipe digging into the flesh by his hip and Bucky’s mouth swallowing him to the hilt, Steve didn’t mind so much feeling powerless in Bucky’s hands. </p><p>Steve let his head thud against the mirror behind him. Bucky’s wet—so goddamn <em>wet</em>—mouth had slid around him and up, stopping at the tip. He licked the slit, pressing into it with his tongue and Steve’s eyes rolled into his head. He wished he could move his hips, thrust into Bucky’s pink mouth that curled so prettily at the corners even when he was doing <em>this </em>of all things. He couldn’t move, though. The position was too awkward and Bucky’s hands, one flesh and one not, were pressing down hard on his thighs. Steve was at the mercy of Bucky’s lips and all he could do was tangle his hand in Bucky’s hair to urge him on. </p><p>“Sorry, sorry,” Steve mumbled when Bucky choked, Steve’s push a little bit too insistent. It had just been so fucking long since his body had felt that good. So fucking long. </p><p>Bucky got the message and quickened his movements, his jaw and lips working Steve’s dick so sweetly that he had to squeeze his eyes shut or he might have just about cried. The pressure in his groin mounted and mounted until he wasn’t sure how much more he could take before—</p><p>“Bucky,” he groaned, not a warning, only a labored breath let out because he wanted to, because he had been coming with Bucky’s name on his lips all his life. Bucky’s lips sealed around him tightly as the mounting wave of pleasure broke and crashed and Steve, fumbling along the sink, seeking something to anchor him, came hard into Bucky’s mouth. Bucky swallowed because he always did and Steve let his head fall back, overwhelmed by how his entire body buzzed as it softened, tension easing. When he opened his eyes, Bucky was looking at him, mouth red and glistening. And then that mouth was crashing against Steve’s, opening up. Just like the first time they had shared a kiss, Steve tasted himself on Bucky’s tongue. </p><p> </p><p>✩✩✩✩✩✩</p><p> </p><p>Steve let himself out of the bathroom quietly, Bucky slipping out behind him and taking off towards the bedroom to change his clothes. They’d cleaned up as best as they could, but Steve, having forgotten Bucky had come all over his hand, had smeared Bucky’s shirt with it when he had touched him. They hadn’t talked after, but Steve could tell from how Bucky grimaced that the situation inside his pants was not much prettier. Steve hoped Sam and Scott were still asleep and wouldn’t notice Bucky changing. Steve made it down the hallway towards the kitchen and sitting area, thoughts of the fridge and the food within firmly on his mind. He opened the door of the living space to find three sets of eyes turning to look at him. Sam was behind the stove, a pan on top of the electric cooker and Scott and Clara were by the table, wide-awake, each with a mug in their hands. </p><p>Steve froze in the doorway, but Scott had heard him, standing up as he practically slammed the cup onto the table. </p><p>“Oh, thank god, I need to pee so bad.” Without further addition, he sped out around Steve and slammed the door of the bathroom shut. Clara’s and Sam’s inquisitive eyes turned to Steve and his blood froze in his veins. He walked further into the room, praying that the flush on his cheeks had abated. Surely, they had been quiet enough. Surely…</p><p>“We were just—” Steve cleared his throat. “Had to brush our teeth.” </p><p>“Mmm, you must really like brushing your teeth.” Clara looked over the top of the mug pointedly as she took her next sip. </p><p>Steve looked to Sam who lifted his hands up defensively. “None of my business,” Sam said, spatula in hand. There was a faint smirk on his lips, though, after Clara’s comment. </p><p>Steve felt all of the previous heat, the result of sharing his body with Bucky’s, leave him in a wave of dread. They knew. They knew when everyone else had only ever suspected. No one. <em>No one</em> had known this about Steve. Sure, they’d called him it many times, but it was easy to spit back in the faces of bullies and call them nasty names back, but these weren’t bullies, these were kind normal people, these were his <em>friends</em>. Steve hadn’t truly been afraid for a long time. He was afraid now. Afraid like when he’d pushed Bucky away when he got too chummy walking down the street with him, afraid like that time Bucky had forgotten to draw the curtain. He knew that things were different now. He’d seen movies where men kissed on screen, he’d watched them hold hands in parks, but Steve had spent all his life afraid that people would <em>know</em> and now they did and he couldn’t help but look into Sam’s eyes and think he was different in them than how he used to be.  </p><p>With a vague gesture towards the door and an unintelligible mutter, he turned around and fled. He passed Bucky in the hallway, mumbled something about going to find something in the bedroom and closed the door behind him. He leaned back against it, breathing in. He knew he might have overreacted, but knee-jerk reactions you had learned to protect yourself were hard to abandon even when you had spent years in a new century. After a few deep breaths, he went to sit down on the bed. The plastic that the mattress was wrapped up in rustled. He dropped his head into his hands. He should have known the whole mess of his feelings would come back to the surface as soon as he and Bucky started up with their usual bullshit. </p><p>Someone knocked on the door and when Steve didn’t answer, Sam let himself in without an invitation. Steve didn’t even try to pretend that he hadn’t been nursing his head in his hands. </p><p>“Hey man, sorry for making such a crass comment back there.” Sam sat down next to him, his hand falling onto Steve’s shoulder comfortingly. “I didn’t mean to imply there was anything wrong with what you did when I said it was none of my business.”</p><p>Steve looked into Sam’s sincere eyes and for the thousandth time in the past year alone thought about how he didn’t deserve a friend like him. “Thanks, Sam, but it really wasn’t that. It’s just…” Steve trailed off. “It’s weird...having people know.”</p><p>“If it makes any difference,” Sam said with a gentle smile, “it doesn’t make a difference to me.” </p><p>“Yeah, that’s—thanks.” Steve could only nod gratefully. </p><p>“You wanna talk about it?” Sam unclasped his hand from Steve’s shoulder but kept himself pressed against Steve in a show of support.</p><p>“No way,” Steve told him, laughing a little. </p><p>Sam bumped his shoulder as he swayed into Steve, teasingly. “So you and Barnes, huh? I have to say I didn’t expect you to be together.” </p><p>“We’re not.” Steve shook his head, avoiding Sam’s eyes. This was exactly the ‘talking about it’ that he had wanted to avoid.</p><p>“Oh,” Sam breathed, surprise written over his face. “So it’s a new thing.” </p><p>“Not...precisely.” Steve had to shake his head again. At Sam’s questioning eyebrow, he dropped his gaze to the floor. “It’s—we kind of...back then. A couple of times.”</p><p>“I see,” Sam said slowly. “A couple of times.” </p><p>“A week.” Steve buried his head back into his hands, knowing exactly how it sounded. The next sentence came out muffled. “A coupl’a times a week.” </p><p>Later in the day, after Steve had gotten over the most of his embarrassment and was able to look all of the apartment’s inhabitants in the eye, he and Bucky were sitting on the rickety balcony chairs again. Scott and Sam had gone to look at the hotels in the area of the UN building, trying to find the hotel where Zemo had stayed. Steve was restless over having to stay put and fidgety over the fact that he and Bucky hadn’t properly spoken since morning. He couldn’t help but feel like Bucky had changed his mind. He watched Bucky’s profile, as he observed the busy street below, noting the way his eyebrows arched, the way his face had lost some of the softness, bringing out his features even more. He had always been so painfully handsome, and Steve had always been so painfully jealous and so painfully charmed at the same time. </p><p>“Did you—” Steve started, looking down at his hands. “If you didn’t wanna do this you could have said. You can always say no.” </p><p>Steve glanced up to see Bucky matching his tense gaze. “What is ‘this’, Steve?”</p><p>Steve didn’t know what to answer. It wasn’t fair that Steve had to be the one to answer this as if he was the only one participating in it. Thing was, <em>this </em>was something you didn’t talk about back then even if you were the one doing it. How could he know what it meant to go from a best friend’s hand on your dick, to putting his mouth on it, to doing the dirtiest deed, and never stopping, not even when all those girls came along, not <em>wanting </em>to stop even when you had found the one you would have married. </p><p>“I don’t know.” Steve shrugged with one shoulder, the movement stiff and uncoordinated. “Old habits die hard?”</p><p>Bucky’s eyes got just a little bit cold when he huffed, “Yeah, guess they do.” </p><p>Later, when Steve and Bucky stole a few minutes together in the bathroom, Steve couldn’t help but feel Bucky’s kiss had twisted on the sad side. Well, Steve figured he wasn’t the one who had kept coming home smelling of a different perfume every Friday night. Back then, Steve’s kisses had twisted sad more times than he could count.</p><p> </p><p>✩✩✩✩✩✩</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>It was a lazy Saturday morning, one of the rare days lately when Bucky didn’t have to pull an extra shift on the weekends to make sure they’d get through the month. Bucky’s family would have helped, Steve knew they would have, but he would never ask, even if it meant chewing the soles of his torn shoes. Bucky knew that and had stopped telling Steve to accept the offered money long ago. Steve had found a job too, and this month was easy on them financially, so he felt like splurging. Rain was pouring outside the kitchen window, heavy clouds coating the room in a misty light as Steve tried to whip up a pancake mix as close to the one his ma used to make. Bucky was by his side “helping”. Steve wasn’t a good cook by a long shot, but he knew how to make some damn good pancakes and Bucky sure didn’t, yet he hovered by, insisting on giving a hand. The only thing he was truly good at was whipping the egg whites and he’d already done that. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Do you know how to saute the apples with butter and honey?” Steve raised one agitated eyebrow when Bucky didn’t move, the already small kitchen feeling even more cramped.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“All I’m doing is standin’,” Bucky defended himself. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“You’re hovering.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Shut up, Steve. You’re making pancakes, not a five-course meal.” He crossed his arms. “‘Sides, I like watching.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Bucky did like watching. Bucky liked watching too much as far as Steve was concerned. Always glancing sideways, always catching Steve’s eyes, and lately...</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Maybe you should check that poor plant there on the windowsill, might be close to death again what with how we always forget to water it.” Steve motioned at the pale blue pot with something green inside that he couldn’t name with a gun to his head. They’d gotten the plant from Becca a month ago and, miraculously, it was still alive. However, Steve couldn’t help but think it was looking all forlorn at the raindrops on the windowpane. </em>
</p><p><em>Bucky obeyed, filling a glass of water and taking it over to the plant. He pushed a finger into the soil and, judging that it was too dry, poured the entire glass in. He was back by Steve’s side before the butter in the pan had even melted. Steve felt Bucky’s eyes on him again like he had all his life, Bucky was always somewhere watching, but the way he watched had changed, subtly and quietly, the gazes landing on Steve becoming more heavy and complex. Steve felt</em> <em>Bucky’s gaze follow the line of his body. He tried to hide it, eyes flitting to Steve’s working hands every now and then, but they kept returning to the place they’d left and Steve felt the prickling of heat in his belly like he always did. He chanced a glance of his own to the side, catching the direction of Bucky’s eyes. The direction changed quickly, caught out as he was, but Steve had seen it and he knew exactly what Bucky had been looking at. </em></p><p>
  <em>He’d been doing it a lot lately. When Steve walked, when he bent down to pick something up, when he was pulling on his pants in a rush in the morning. It wasn’t just Bucky’s eyes that had been traveling there a lot either, but his hands, too. The way he always pulled Steve farther into his mouth by wrapping his hands around his ass, the way his hands slid down Steve’s back and never stopped at his waist. It was exhilarating, wasn’t like Steve hadn’t thought about it too. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“You wanna stick it in me, don’t you?” Steve said a moment after he’d put the diced apples into the melted butter. Bucky jerked, his eyes flying to Steve’s, mouth falling open. Steve raised his eyebrows. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“No.” The answer came almost as quickly as the blush. Steve had never before seen Bucky flush so furiously and so instantly. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Steve turned to face him, his gaze challenging. He felt his own cheeks heating up, but that was almost a tradition at that point so he ignored it.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Maybe,” Bucky mumbled, fixing his eyes onto the slowly-cooking apples. </em>
</p><p><em>Steve had known for a long time how some people liked to do it. A boy called Carl Morgan had told him in hushed tones once during detention years ago. Told him how some guys liked to stick it into girl’s asses. Steve hadn’t believed him back then. He figured Carl was full of shit. Then he heard it again. Heard about buggery. Between a certain sort of people. He figured Carl must have been right, but couldn’t ever wrap his head around why anyone would wanna do </em>that.<em> Then one day when he was alone, when he and Bucky hadn’t jerked off for a while, he licked his finger and pressed it against his hole. Against it and in. It felt weird and he said he’d never do it again. Except he did. And it felt weird the second time too. Yet, he still felt a strange compulsion to do it the third.  </em></p><p>
  <em>“How do you figure you do that?” Steve asked as if it was complicated. Or maybe it was. Maybe it wouldn’t go in, how was he to know?</em>
</p><p><em>“Jeez, Steve.” Bucky looked at him scandalized. He rubbed a hand over the flush that was still persisting on his face. “You can’t just</em>—<em>just say these things.” </em></p><p><em>When Steve didn’t reply, Bucky shrugged awkwardly, “I don’t know ok, I just</em>—<em> never thought on it too hard, ok?” </em></p><p>
  <em>Steve mixed the apples with the wooden spoon because he’d be damned if he was letting their breakfast get ruined because of this conversation of all things. “Maybe you should ask Matty, maybe he’ll tell you how he and Jack do it.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“You know damn well Matty and Jack don’t do it, Steve.” Bucky sounded annoyed.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Should we, then?” Steve met his eyes straight on again.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Steve might have been pushing his fingers into his ass in the dark when he was alone, but the barriers between him and Bucky kept falling and he wasn’t sure how many more could fall before they were in some real deep trouble. </em>
</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Things are picking up relationship-wise and plot-wise! Who else is excited for the throw down?</p><p>If you like the fic, reblog this <a href="https://synonym-for-life.tumblr.com/post/637779254866837504/a-hat-a-horse-a-hyundai-and-the-will-to-ride">Tumblr post</a> or this <a href="https://twitter.com/anotherstuckybb/status/1339754748350767104">Twitter post</a> to spread the word! :*</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. A Cowboy Knows Where to Draw The Line</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The plot thickens and Steve says more stupid things.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Please, note the wise words of my beta and dear friend; “It’s important to understand that in all ways except literal, Steve and Bucky are cowboys.” (whiskyandwildflowers, Discord, 2020)</p><p>As a point of interest, the Cowboy Code mentioned in one of the scenes is actually a mix of different cowboy codes and cowboy sayings that I found on the internet!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>“Oh, you’re rocking the beanies again?” Scott nodded appraisingly when he saw what Steve and Bucky had put on after having donned their jackets. </p><p>Steve pulled the hat over his ears. When it didn’t sit right, he reached up and pulled it back by the condom-dome thing at the top. He frowned when that made it feel like it was going to slip off. “This is hardly <em>rocking it</em> but thanks for the vote of confidence, I guess.” </p><p>It was a colder day than the day they had met up, so at the very least Steve wasn’t sweating under the thick fabric when they stepped out onto the streets of Vienna. They planned on snooping at the hotel Zemo had stayed in during his time in the city. They knew they weren’t going to find anything in his room as it had surely been thoroughly cleaned out when he had left, but they might be able to find something in the hotel records. They wanted to know if Zemo had come to Vienna alone or if there was anyone who had visited him. Perhaps, he’d had any special requests or someone at the hotel had noticed any suspicious activity?</p><p>As they were walking there, Vienna’s baroque buildings surrounding them from all sides, Steve realized Sam had never followed up on his promise to tell them where he and Scott had been hiding before the four of them had met up. </p><p>“Sam,” he called to get his attention, “why did we have to leave you on some mountain plain with the Quinjet? Does the Wilson family secretly own a picturesque Alpine cottage?”</p><p>Sam laughed easily, then gave Steve the kind of cheeky grin only Sam could pull off. Steve had missed Sam’s carefree smiles and the way he seemed to light up the room. “No, but Nat does.”</p><p>Steve searched his face trying to determine if he was joking or not. “Nat does what?”</p><p>“Nat owns a picturesque Alpine cottage,” Sam repeated Steve’s words. He laughed and shook his head as if he, too, could barely believe that. </p><p>“You’re not serious.” Steve could not even wrap his head around Natasha Romanov in an Alpine cottage much less Natasha Romanov as its owner. In his mind, he could clearly see a wooden hut with small windows, a well in front, and pastures all around.  </p><p>“She does,” Scott piped up from where he was trying to walk on the edge of the sidewalk. He fell off every few steps. “It’s very nice. Was kind of dusty when we came, though. The Black Widow doesn’t like to clean. But Sam and I helped.”</p><p>Steve shook his head in disbelief. Natasha truly was full of surprises.</p><p>“What’s so weird about owning a cottage?” Bucky asked from Steve’s side. </p><p>“You don’t own one too, do you?” Steve asked, bracing himself for an affirming answer.</p><p>“No, but I would.” Bucky shrugged. Now that was another thought Steve couldn’t quite wrap his mind around. What the hell would Bucky do with a cottage? Act out The Sound of Music? “Besides, it’s good tactics for her profession. To have a base that’s far removed from civilization, perfect for laying low, buys her time to reinvent herself.” </p><p>“Why hasn’t she joined us then? Why hasn’t she come to Vienna?” Steve would have liked to see Nat again. He missed her in a way he wasn’t used to missing anyone. He missed her as a friend who knew him just a little bit too well and had accepted everything without a blink. She had never tried to change him, a pressure he’d felt from everyone in this century, even Sam. Well, except when she had tried to set him up with every woman on S.H.I.E.L.D, but Steve suspected she simply liked watching him come up with worse and worse excuses. Natasha took everything about him in stride and he tried to return the favor. </p><p>“I think her words were ‘you boys can handle this on your own’,” Sam said distractedly. He was glancing down at the navigation on his phone comparing the name of the streets on the map to the name on the sign as they rounded the corner. “Said she might join later if we needed any help.” </p><p>That sounded promising except that Steve had no clue what they would do later. If the hotel turned out to be a dead-end, they had limited resources to continue their search for an answer. He was starting to doubt there even was anything behind his intuition, but every time he tried to dissect the past events the prickling suspicion in his head got stronger. </p><p>“This is it,” Scott said as he pointed at the sign ahead of them. <em>Leitner Family Hotel. </em>The hotel was small and located in an unassuming building. The lobby wasn’t visible from the outside as the large wooden door was closed. They stopped outside of it. </p><p>“So what’s the plan?” Bucky asked. Steve met Sam’s eyes. When neither of them found the answer in the other, both looked to Scott. Steve didn’t think Scott was much of a planner, but maybe he would have some strange but brilliant idea on the spot. </p><p>“So...no plan,” Bucky said, dejected. </p><p>“Well...Captain America was one of the best strategists during the Second World War.” Scott looked at Steve with so much faith he almost felt bad for crushing his hopes. </p><p>“Problem is this isn’t war,” Steve pointed out because he hadn’t been good at the whole spy thing with Natasha and he doubted he was going to shine now. </p><p>“Steve liked to design strategies alright,” Bucky huffed. “He liked following through with them a lot less.” </p><p>“That’s a little bit unfair.” Steve pulled at his beanie, agitated that it kept slipping sideways. “I always made sure we followed the plan as much as possible.”</p><p>“No, you made sure that <em>we</em> followed the plan as much as possible, while <em>you </em>went and winged it at every possible moment.” Bucky crossed his arms over his chest, distracting Steve when the movement pulled his pecs closer together. </p><p>Steve tore his eyes away from where they had slipped. “Only when it was necessary!” </p><p>“I didn’t know it was necessary for you to almost die <em>three hundred times.</em>” Bucky glared. Steve felt like he was back in an army tent, the ground muddy beneath his boots as Bucky, seething by his side, related clipped answers to Phillips, shooting ugly looks Steve’s way every chance he got. </p><p>“Hey,” Bucky called, whipping his head in the direction of the door, bringing the end to their standoff. “What are you doing?”</p><p>Scott had stepped up the lone stone stair. He had his hand on the door handle. “I just...it looked like this thing—” he waved at their defensive body postures, “—was going to last a while. Thought I’d get on with the day.”</p><p>Sam snickered. “You know what, Lang, you’re alright.” He clapped Scott on the shoulder and nodded.</p><p>“Wait, what are we going to—” Steve started, but Scott had already twisted the handle and was pushing the heavy door open. </p><p>There was a small landing on the inside and some more stairs, covered in a nice mauve carpet that spilled forth into the lobby. </p><p>“Guten tag!” Scott cheerfully greeted the receptionist, his pronunciation veering into <em>good tag</em>, but the woman behind the counter had to have been used to that as she merely smiled and greeted back. </p><p>“My name is Angela Leitner, how can I help you today? Mind, I don’t usually work the front desk, my <em>stab</em> is usually the office back there.” She pointed at the door behind the counter. “So forgive me if I’m slow with checking you in, I don’t do it very often, but our front-desk worker got sick, so you’re stuck with me.”</p><p>Her smile made wrinkles at the corner of her mouth and Steve instantly liked her. </p><p>“It’s okay, we’re not checking in,” Scott said, bouncing on his toes while his hands held the edge of the marble countertop. “My friends there are getting married this summer!”</p><p>Steve froze as Scott pointed at him and Bucky. Bucky tensed next to him. Steve would have stopped the trainwreck that was about to happen if Scott <em>could </em>be stopped when he got going. </p><p>“They’ve just reserved a lovely wedding venue here in Vienna,” Scott continued talking really, really fast. “And now, of course, we’re Americans and we have American friends and we have to fly them over, obviously. And <em>then</em> they have to sleep somewhere. Somewhere nice and somewhere affordable, so maybe my friends there could have a little tour of the hotel to see if it would be appropriate?” </p><p>He finished on a high and hopeful note. Somehow, distressed as the monologue had been, it didn’t leave a lot of room for arguing. Steve felt like a deer caught in the headlights. He tried to smile when Ms. Leitner looked at him but his face felt like it was made of wax. </p><p>“They don’t talk a lot,” Sam explained away Steve’s grimace as he elbowed him in the ribs. </p><p>“That’s…” Ms. Leitner looked around, lost. “I would love to, I just have no one to stay at the front desk at the moment. All of my cleaning staff is done for the day and we’re a small hotel. I really don’t know—”</p><p>“Don’t worry, Ms. Leitner,” Sam stepped in smoothly. “Us two will wait here in the lobby. We’ll sit down on those comfortable chairs you have there and, in case a customer comes, one of us will come and find you.”</p><p>“Oh, well, that could work. That’s very kind of you.” Ms. Leitner looked relieved at Sam’s suggestion. “In that case, we can have a little tour.”</p><p>She took a few sets of keys from the drawer and walked from behind the counter, motioning for Steve and Bucky to follow. At Sam’s insisting expression and telling glances between the door and Steve and the hallway leading towards the rooms, Steve and Bucky could only follow Ms. Leitner’s footsteps.</p><p>They climbed a few sets of stairs, while Ms. Leitner talked about the hotel’s capacity, breakfast time, and breakfast options. She warned them to make a reservation as soon as possible because summers were the busiest besides Christmas time. They toured the empty rooms, from a large, bright Master bedroom, perfect for the wedding night, or so she had told them with a wink that made Steve flush the color of the red bedding. </p><p>His focus waned as they went out and he zoned out completely by the time special decor and special dinner selection started being mentioned along with the possibility of silk sheets if they paid extra money. Bucky only spurred her on, enjoying playing a demanding “I don’t like the feeling of low-thread count sheets on my skin” guest. He seemed to have forgotten he was wearing a stupid beanie on his head, but the woman started buying Bucky’s rich persona when his demands got more and more grandiose. She must have thought that only someone with heaps of money could even come up with “I feel like I have a low-thread count allergy. Do you think that’s possible, having a low-thread count allergy?” Her face spoke volumes about what she thought of the question, but she still managed a smile and a nod. </p><p>Steve didn’t know whether it was hours or minutes later that they made it back to the lobby. Scott and Sam were calmly sitting in the cushioned armchairs. Scott was leafing through a magazine trying to pronounce the long German words and, to Sam’s obvious delight, butchering them up badly. Bucky thanked Ms. Leitner for her hospitality taking her business card. As soon as the card was in Bucky’s hand, Steve ushered them all out so quickly that Scott didn’t even have time to put the magazine down. </p><p>“Wow, you seem traumatized.” Sam pointed out Steve’s brisk walk. </p><p>“I feel like half of the conversation I listened to was about sheet thread-count,” Steve said and stopped, allowing the others to catch up. “Thank god we’re never marrying.” </p><p>As soon as he muttered that, he regretted it. The awkward tension that followed as Sam and Scott glanced at Bucky then at Steve and back at Bucky again made him want to blend in with the cream-colored building behind him. As Steve tried to pretend he didn’t see the looks being thrown every which way, it hit him, for the first time in the twenty-first century, that they actually <em>could.</em> He’d thrown out that sentence carelessly, thoughtlessly, out of discomfort for having been put on the spot like that in front of a stranger at a random hotel, not realizing once that he and Bucky, if they wanted to, if that was something...they <em>could</em>. Steve had never once in his life imagined himself as a married man. When Peggy came into his life that was the first time he even thought of it as a possibility for him. It had hit him hard too, back then, the knowledge that this gorgeous, spitfire of a woman would have married him had he wanted to. Standing on a sidewalk in Vienna, lined by parked cars, with the Habsburg Dynasty architecture setting the scenery, it hit him again, harder this time, that <em>that</em> was a possibility for him too.</p><p>“What’s—what,” he stumbled over his words, but someone had to break the tension and it had to be him because no one was moving. He opted for changing the subject. “What did you find out? About Zemo?”</p><p>Sam’s face darkened and Scott shuffled by his side, visibly uncomfortable.  </p><p>“It’s bad,” Sam warned. Steve raised his eyebrows, urging him to stop stalling. “We checked the hotel logs and they show Zemo was here for a really long time. Two and a half weeks. And I guess getting all of the needed equipment took a lot of time. He got five major deliveries to the hotel, but the only reason I know that is because someone wrote a note for their coworker saying ‘Tell Mr. Zemo to notify the staff before a delivery, this was the fifth shipment and I barely managed to carry it across the lobby, it was so heavy!’ So we know this hotel was his base, but it largely went unnoticed by anyone else but the staff.”</p><p>Bucky nodded. “We knew that was how it probably happened already. What’s the bad part?”</p><p>Sam sighed. “His stay at the hotel was paid for by the United States Department of State.” </p><p>Steve felt like Sam had thumped him on the head with that sentence. He opened his mouth then closed it, not knowing what to say. </p><p>“Well, shit,” Bucky summed up his thoughts. </p><p>“This is bad, right?” Scott piped up, bouncing from the nerves. “It feels bad.”</p><p>“Thaddeus Ross is the Secretary of State…” Steve trailed off when a person passed by them. He motioned down the sidewalk with his arm, indicating they should start walking. “I was thinking something like that might be the case, but, yes, it’s bad. But if you think about it, the motive’s been there all along.” </p><p>“There’s always been something really convenient about Zemo appearing just as the Sokovia accords came on the table…” Sam agreed. </p><p>“Especially after we refused to sign.” Steve inclined his head. The movement pulled his beanie sideways. He fixed it despite the intense urge to just rip it off his head and throw it in the nearest bin.</p><p>“So you think,” Bucky started thoughtfully, “the US Department of State funded Zemo because sowing a riff between the Avengers was in their interest?”</p><p>Steve shrugged. “Yeah, I guess.” </p><p>“It makes sense,” Scott said as he kicked a stone on the pavement, letting it roll ahead of them. “You didn’t agree on the Accords but you were still friends. You were still a team. And they’re smart enough to know that’s more important than a piece of paper, no matter how many countries sign it.”</p><p>Steve, Bucky and Sam all turned to look at him, surprised that Scott was so insightful even when he hadn’t known them before. </p><p>“What?” Scott looked up from the ground. “I’m good with people. I know how things work.” </p><p>“It’s true,” Sam backed him up. “If you had stayed friends, only the right situation would have had to come along and you’d be back together sticking it to the Accords.” </p><p>Knowing the rest of the team, Steve knew they were right. He felt a pang at sadness over how the events had transpired, but he didn’t feel any regret over it. He would have chosen Bucky a thousand times over, in every situation and in every century. </p><p>“That also explains those mercenaries and the trigger words,” Steve pointed out, glancing at Bucky. “Ross sent them because he didn’t like us snooping. And he had access to the triggers from when Zemo questioned Bucky.”</p><p>They all nodded, agreeing that that was the most likely scenario. Silence fell over them as they turned a corner.</p><p>“So that’s it?” Steve didn’t like how strangely mellow this resolution felt. “Just the US doing some dirty behind-the-scenes work? Nothing we could ever hope to solve when the order was probably signed by the president himself.” </p><p>“It really seems that way.” Sam frowned, unhappy with the result too. Discontent was rolling off him in waves. </p><p>“Or…” Scott began. He waved his hand as if chasing away a fly. “Nah, it’s stupid.”</p><p>“Lang, you might be stupid, but so is everyone else here—” Bucky ignored Sam’s offended <em>Hey! </em>“So you might as well throw it out.”</p><p>“It’s just…” Scott looked at Steve from under his brow. “Ross is the Secretary of State, right?” </p><p>They all nodded in unison. </p><p>“Well, Ross has a big history with supersoldiers...” Scott trailed off again as if the rest of them should complete the end of that sentence. </p><p>“What kind of history?” Bucky was frowning really hard, undoubtedly thinking about all the Winter Soldiers that were lying dead in their cryo coffins back in the Siberian bunker. </p><p>“Well, when Ross was still in the army, he was in charge of the Bio-Tech Force Enhancement Project. Its aim was basically to, well, to create another <em>you.</em>” He waved in Steve’s direction as if trying to encompass all that Steve was in one gesture. He then turned to Bucky. “And you, I guess, minus the cyborg arm, even though, in my humble opinion, the arm is the coolest part, like very sexy.” </p><p>As soon as he said that, Scott looked like he regretted it immensely. Bucky was smirking, though, so Steve supposed he didn’t mind. Scott rushed on.</p><p>“Basically, that project ended up in a disaster. Your friend Banner, he was on the receiving end of the accident.” Scott looked at them, face serious. “Ross’s project made the Hulk.” </p><p>“What?” Sam’s voice was high pitched from disbelief. “<em>Ross</em> made the Hulk?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Scott nodded vigorously. “You didn’t know this? Wow, good thing I was a fan before joining the team, I know everything about you guys.” </p><p>He slapped his head with the palm of his hand. “God, I can’t just keep <em>saying these things</em>,” he muttered to himself. </p><p>“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” Steve narrowed his eyes, trying to see the situation from Ross’s point of view. </p><p>“What—” Scott looked uncomfortable under Steve’s scrutiny. “What am I saying exactly?”</p><p>“That it was awful handy of Ross to get so heavily involved in the Accords when a stack of frozen supersoldiers was conveniently waiting for him across the world,” Bucky said darkly. </p><p>“Couldn’t he have questioned Zemo and gotten to them long before that?” Sam voiced a concern Steve had as well. </p><p>“Not if Zemo was smart.” Bucky shook his head. “He would have wanted leverage. He wouldn’t have told him where the bunker was until he got what he wanted.”</p><p>“And now we took them to it.” Thoughts swirled around Steve’s head, all the new information slotting into a puzzle. There were still so many missing pieces. </p><p>“There’s just one thing.” Scott tilted his head. “They’re dead now.” </p><p>Steve looked off into the distance, down the long, wide street. “Technically, so was I.” </p><p> </p><p>✩✩✩✩✩✩</p><p> </p><p>They made their way back to the apartment, stopping by the grocery store because Sam insisted that he was at least going to eat well if he had to deal with some politician villain. They decided they weren’t going to make any decisions just yet, but Sam texted Natasha to let her know what they had found out. Trying not to dwell on it for the time being, they bought the ingredients for dinner, agreeing that they should make some for Clara too, not only because she was kind enough to host them, but because they doubted she had eaten anything else but crackers and cookies for the past week. </p><p>When they came back to the apartment, Clara was still behind her computer writing. Sam made her a cup of tea, then he and Steve peeled the large pile of potatoes they would be baking later. Scott and Bucky agreed to do the heavy lifting when it came to cooking, leaving Steve and Sam to lounge on the couch, trying to find a movie on TV that wasn’t dubbed. Scott and Bucky seemed to be doing rather fine in the kitchen, a surprise since Bucky was far from a proficient cook. Scott had mentioned something about having to learn cooking when his daughter was born and, from what Steve could tell, he had turned on the Dad Mode behind the stove. </p><p>The dinner turned out delicious. They sat down to eat it on the couch because the kitchen desk was cluttered with papers. Clara sat down in the middle of it since she was the smallest and Steve took the footstool. Even that way, Sam’s, Scott’s, Clara’s and Bucky’s elbows kept bumping, but no one paid it any mind, too hungry to care. </p><p>Since Steve and Sam had spent most of the evening parked in front of the TV, cleaning duty fell on them. Clara didn’t own a dishwasher, so they got to it in the old school way, Steve soaking the dishes and washing them with dishwashing liquid and Sam rinsing and drying. They fell into a calm rhythm and Steve let his thoughts run, processing the past day. That was until Sam abruptly interrupted him. </p><p>“Barnes seems quiet,” he said casually. <em>Too</em> <em>casually. </em></p><p>Steve pretended to give him the benefit of the doubt. He sunk the spatula in the water again, trying to get the stubborn bit of baked potato from in between the lines. “He’s usually quiet.” </p><p>Sure Bucky used to be more chatty but so had Steve. Sam didn’t know that, though, so Steve had no clue where he was going with this. </p><p>“He seems <em>sad</em> is what I meant.” Sam closed the pipe, having rinsed the plate in his hand. He looked at Steve sideways, waiting for his eyes to make contact. </p><p>“Sam,” Steve said, voice heavy, warning Sam to back off the topic. He didn’t meet his eyes. </p><p>“What you said today, on the street, did y—”</p><p>“Sam, please.” Steve closed his eyes, leaning his wrists heavily onto the edge of the sink. Sam was quiet for a while, searching Steve’s face. Steve refused to open his eyes until he felt Sam turn his attention back to the dishes. </p><p>“It might not be my place to say this—”</p><p>“It’s not,” Steve cut him off, pissed off that Sam wouldn’t let it slide. </p><p>“Steve what you two have…” Sam said in a low voice that couldn’t carry over the room. “Other people dream of their whole life. Don’t ruin it.” </p><p>As if Steve needed the reminder that he was doing a terrible job of it. As if he didn’t fear losing Bucky again every day of his life. </p><p>“How do I do that?” he whispered because he didn’t trust his voice not to crack if he said it any louder. </p><p>“I know it’s different for you two, I know there’s a lot of baggage there, but it’s really not that hard.” Sam placed a plate on the rack with a soft clang. He wiped his hands dry on a towel. “All you really need to do is tell him how you feel. Man, just...tell him you love him.” </p><p>Steve swallowed, casting his eyes down to watch the soap bubbles slowly popping out of existence. He shook his head more for his own sake than for Sam’s. “That doesn’t even begin to cover it.”</p><p>“What?” Sam sounded confused. From the tone of his voice, Steve knew he was furrowing his eyebrows.</p><p>“That doesn’t even begin to cover what he means to me.” </p><p>✩✩✩✩✩✩</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <em>“Howdy,” Bucky said with a serious nod when he finally made it to the school playground. Bucky was a year older than Steve, a fact he liked to make known multiple times per week lest Steve forgot. As if Steve could ever forget, being reminded of it every day just by the fact that he and Bucky weren’t in the same class. He had begged Bucky to flunk multiple times just so they could be together. </em>
</p><p><em>“Howdy,” Steve greeted back, with a somber nod. The cowboy code said that you should never pass anyone on the trail without saying ‘Howdy’ and your greeting should be accompanied by a nod and not a wave as that sudden movement could spook the other man’s horse. Steve and Bucky weren’t on the trail and they didn’t have a horse, but they took the Cowboy Code very seriously. They’d read multiple novels about the Wild West</em>—<em>well, Bucky read most of those multiple novels, and Steve had only read some</em>—<em>and were taken with the just, courageous image of a lone cowboy living purely by his own code of honor. </em></p><p>
  <em>“Guess what,” Bucky said, waving a piece of paper with a huge grin on his face as he sat down cross-legged on the dusty ground across from Steve.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“What?” Steve fished for the piece of paper but Bucky kept it out of his reach. Anything that put that boyish smile on Bucky’s face was bound to be good.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Pops let me cut this out of the newspaper in the morning.” Bucky presented Steve with the clipping. At the top of it, in fancy letters, the title was proclaiming, “Cowboy Code from the Mouth of a True Cowboy.” There was a grainy photo in the corner of a man in a cowboy hat and below the photo a name, Bill 'Rider' Talley, a cowboy of the Wyoming Rocky Mountains. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Steve snatched the clipping from Bucky’s hand and read out loud. “A cowboy ain’t got much in this world but his honor, and he better take good care of that ‘cause a cowboy without honor ain’t just an empty man, he also ain’t a cowboy no more.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Words of a true cowboy, Steve!” Bucky was buzzing, his eyes big and shiny as he waved for Steve to go on. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Underneath this introduction, there were lines of cowboy code as according to  Bill ‘Rider’ Talley. “Look out for your own,” was the first line on the list that Steve read out loud. He and Bucky nodded, they knew that was important. You had to take care of your family. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Don’t inquire into a person’s past. Take the measure of a man for what he is today.” This one made them furl their eyebrows. Steve wasn’t entirely sure what kind of a past he was supposed to have. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“We don’t got much past yet,” Bucky pointed out smartly. Steve had to agree. Maybe this would make more sense in a few years. Maybe when they started learning algebra. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Never steal another man’s horse.” Steve’s shoulders slumped. “We ain’t got a horse either.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Well, we ain’t supposed to steal anyways,” Bucky shrugged. “So we got that covered.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Steve read on, “Your word is your bond.” Wide-eyed, he exclaimed, “We should make a cowboy pact!” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Bucky smoothed his curls, nodding seriously. He had got dirt on his hair, but that was not the time to point it out. “We should shake our hands on every line you read.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Buzzing with excitement, Steve took the paper into his left hand and shot out the right. Bucky clasped it with his own. Their fingernails were dirty and their hands scratched from playing outside. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“A cowboy doesn’t talk much; he saves his breath for breathing.” They both froze, then slowly shook their hands. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“That’s a strange one,” Bucky said. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Gonna be hard for you to keep,” Steve teased. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Bucky kicked him with his foot. “As if you don’t yabber just as much.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Okay, we can skip that one.” Steve looked at their hands. “Let’s un-shake it.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>They started shaking their hands vigorously every which way, their whole torsos wiggling. It made them laugh and Steve almost dropped the clipping. He clutched it a bit too forcefully, crumpling it. Smoothing it against his thigh he went on, “A cowboy always helps someone in need.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>They looked in each other’s eyes and with strong grips shook their hands. “Ma also says you should always do that,” Steve said. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“And Father Dorthy also says that,” Bucky supplied. “He probably got it from the cowboys too.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Probably,” Steve agreed even though he wasn’t so sure about that claim. He bent his head towards the piece of paper again. “A cowboy always does what has to be done.”</em>
</p><p><em>Bucky pursed his lips. “It does seem kinda important to do the things that you </em>gotta<em> do.” </em></p><p>
  <em>“It does,” Steve nodded seriously. They shook on it. They had gotten to the last sentence. Steve read it, frowning as he went, “A cowboy always knows where to draw the line.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Bucky frowned too. They looked at each other in confusion. Their hands slowly lost grip and, puzzled, they lost the connection. Steve cast about with his eyes, trying to divulge the mystical meaning of the Cowboy Code from the little rocks surrounding them. He saw a dried up twig lying on the ground next to his right knee. Grabbing it, he brought it between him and Bucky victoriously. Bucky continued looking on with puzzlement. Bending forward, Steve placed the twig in front of his crossed legs and slowly dragged a line into the sand from his legs to Bucky’s until it was pointing from one of them to the other. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Know where to draw the line,” Bucky whispered in awe, nodding as if the secrets of cowboyhood had just been revealed to him in all their glory. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Yeah,” Steve replied in the same voice, tracing the line from his end to Bucky’s with his finger this time, “the line.” Bucky was his end of the line. Steve had no clue what that meant, but he nodded seriously anyway, feeling the revelation unravel inside him in all its wondrous glory. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>✩✩✩✩✩✩</p><p> </p><p>“Barnes, get out of the shower, Natasha’s calling in a few!” Sam yelled towards the bathroom. Natasha had messaged him she would call in the evening a few hours earlier. Steve was hoping she had managed to get some more info about Ross for them. </p><p>Bucky ran out of the shower, half-dressed, having obviously just finished pulling his sweats on. Out of the corner of his eye, Steve could see Scott’s mouth fall open when he took in Bucky’s muscular shoulders and his symmetrical abs. Steve looked away when an irrational pinprick sensation of possessiveness stabbed him in his spine.</p><p>“Wow,” Scott breathed, letting his eyes run over the expanse of Bucky’s skin. “Are you free tonight?”</p><p>Bucky laughed. “I don’t know, am I free tonight, Steve?” </p><p>“No?” It came out more angry than Steve had wanted, almost gritted through his teeth. </p><p>“I’m free, Scott,” Bucky told him with a wink. “You can suck my dick whenever you want.” </p><p>“Natasha is calling in a minute.” Steve knew this was supposed to be a joke, but he didn’t think it was funny in the slightest. “No one is sucking anyone’s dick.” </p><p>Sam coughed from across the room. “Double.” Cough. “Standards.”</p><p>Steve was saved by the bell or rather saved by Sam’s phone lighting up with the declaration that he had an incoming video call from the Black Widow herself. Relieved, Steve motioned for them to sit down at the bottom of the bed. Sam and Scott hurried to join him, while Bucky searched for a spare t-shirt. Sam answered the phone and Steve tore his eyes away from Bucky’s skin disappearing under black cotton and turned his attention to Natasha’s smirking face. </p><p>“Hey, fellas,” she greeted in her signature drawl and Steve’s face split into a genuine smile, hoping that his flush, the product of earlier conversation, wasn't obvious through the camera. It was so good seeing Natasha again. Her hair was still red but a darker shade and the shape of her haircut was different, but the smirk was the same.</p><p>Sam, Scott and Steve huddled closer together so that Bucky could sit down next to Steve as well. He pressed himself against Steve, looking across his shoulder. He was so close that Steve could feel the warmth of the hot shower he had taken. The smell of Clara’s shampoo wafted towards his nostrils when a strand of Bucky’s wet hair slipped along Steve’s neck. <em>Jerk. </em>Steve knew he was doing this on purpose after pissing him off. He knew his annoying game even if that didn’t change the fact he had to flex and unflex his hand to chase away the tingling from his spine when Bucky’s breath ghosted against his ear.</p><p>“Having fun?” Natasha asked, flicking her eyes from one to the other. She raised an eyebrow at Bucky, but didn’t say anything. Steve knew Nat was afraid of him. Nat wasn’t afraid of many things but Steve had recognized true fear when he had pushed her against the wall that time she’d told him about the Winter Soldier. She had avoided Bucky at the airport, too. Steve knew there was history between them that they’d have to deal with one day, but today was not the day. </p><p>“We’re alright.” Sam nodded, smiling his signature smile. “Steve and Barnes entertain us by arguing. Did you know Steve argues a lot? Like about everything? Being in their presence is excruciating.” </p><p>Steve threw him a dirty look. Nat laughed, eyes bright. “You know what, I had an inkling that might be hiding underneath.” </p><p>“I mean I knew Steve had opinions on things like freedom and justice,” Sam went on to Scott and Nat’s delight. Even Bucky was snorting behind him. “But I didn’t know he also had firm opinions on which side of the pancakes is ‘the right side’ and how apples should be cut.” </p><p>“I’m literally right here,” Steve felt the need to point out. Everyone was conspiring against him. “Can we get to the point anytime now?” </p><p>“I thought you’d be happier to see me.” Nat put on a fake pout. “I feel kind of offended right now.”</p><p>Steve’s face softened despite knowing Nat wasn’t actually offended. A small smile sneaked onto the corner of his mouth. “I am happy to see you, Nat. No one here puts their feet up on the coffee table half as much as you do.” </p><p>He knew Nat would understand that this meant he missed her. She spoke the same language as him. “No one here to tell me I shouldn’t.” The camera panned around revealing her socked legs propped up on a natural wooden table. Steve laughed. </p><p>The camera panned back to Natasha’s face which got more serious. “Okay, let’s get to business.” She jutted her chin out at Sam. “You told me about the hotel’s bank records and you told me about Scott’s suspicions about Ross. So I dived into it and dug up as much as I could. I wasn’t able to access the US government records, though, even I’m not that good.” </p><p>Natasha tapped on the keyboard a few times, her nails clicking against the keys. “But here.” A series of satellite pictures appeared on the tiny screen of Sam’s phone. Natasha clicked one and enlarged it. “I’ve been tracking the activity around the bunker and, although there weren’t many people coming in and out, there were a few large white vehicles that came and went. It looked like they were bringing more and more people and none of the people they brought were really leaving.”</p><p>Nat clicked out of the shared screen, her face appearing again. “So <em>then</em> because I’m smart and because I had a feeling your suspicions about the Winter Soldiers were true, I checked up on a few of the world’s leading scientists on bio-engineering, genetics and chemistry and—” her face twisted into a dark expression “—lo and behold, it looks like some of them up and left their professor positions at various universities and research institutes.” </p><p>“They’re not trying to bring them back to life, are they? Would that even be possible with a shot to the head?” Bucky asked and Steve thought he could feel the discomfort rolling off of him. He had trained with those men and women, he had fought them and he’d seen what they were capable of. </p><p>“I don’t know, it might be possible, but it would also probably take too much time. It’s not like they have practice in that.” Nat’s eyes flicked to Steve in apology, but Steve knew that although he had been clinically dead when they defrosted him, it was because his metabolism had slowed down so much he could no longer be considered alive. He wasn’t shot in the head like those soldiers had been. “What I <em>think</em> happened is that they tried to extract the serum.”</p><p>“You think they succeeded?” Steve frowned at Nat with an intensity not many could handle. </p><p>“The activity stopped,” Natasha told them seriously. “And now Ross is on his way to Europe.”</p><p>“Not Siberia?” Sam asked. </p><p>Nat shook her head. “I’ve wondered about that, too. Why not come to the base of operations in Siberia and finish what you started there? But then I thought...Maybe Ross is largely doing this on his own. Maybe he’s trying to throw people off the trail.” </p><p>“Ross is crazy enough about the serum to try to fly this under everyone else’s radar.” Scott agreed. Nat nodded, serious.</p><p>“So where’s he going?” Steve prompted.</p><p>“To ski in Switzerland,” Natasha said through an ironic smirk. </p><p>“Ski?” Steve looked out of the window. He couldn’t quite see the trees, the floor they were on too high above the ground, but when they had been outside earlier he could see that the buds on the trees weren’t far from blooming. And Ross was going skiing. “It’s spring.”</p><p>“Not in the mountains it isn’t.” Nat shook her head. “The resorts there are open till late April.”</p><p>“Wow.” Steve didn’t particularly like the idea of going to the Alps, but if that was where Ross would be...</p><p>“How did you find all of this out?” Steve couldn’t believe anyone would share Ross’s whereabouts so freely and Nat had said she wasn’t able to hack the US government system. </p><p>“I guess I <em>am </em>that good after all. '' Natasha winked then clicked on the keyboard a few more times. What looked like Ross’s Instagram account showed up. The last picture got enlarged and there was Thaddeus Everet Ross holding his newly purchased skis with a wide smile on his face. The caption declared, “Can’t wait to test these beauties!” </p><p>Steve could almost feel Sam roll his eyes next to him.</p><p>“Switzerland has a lot of ski resorts,” Steve pointed out. </p><p>Nat smiled wider. “Luckily, he also tagged one in another photo. Eiger Hotel in a village called Mürren.”</p><p>“Oh my god,” Scott breathed loudly. “I just realized. That means we’re going skiing!” </p><p>Sam, Steve and Bucky looked at one another. Bucky tilted his head. “I guess we are.”</p><p>“This is the best Eurotrip I’ve ever been on.” Scott clapped his hands once then pumped the air. </p><p>“I thought this is the only Eurotrip you’ve ever been on?” Sam knocked his knees against Scott, bringing his attention to himself. </p><p>“Sam, you are a fool if you think anyone can beat this. I mean look at us!” He waved his arms to encompass the four of them sitting on the bed then pointed to Nat’s face on the screen. “We’re like...five sexy Eurotripping musketeers.” </p><p>Natasha’s laugh rang out of the speaker, one of those rare sincere ones she didn’t freely give. “Well, boys, I’ll leave you to it, I have some work to do. I’ll send you the information about where you’ll be staying and you, you get yourselves a ride.”</p><p> </p><p>✩✩✩✩✩✩</p><p> </p><p>Steve pulled up to his three travel companions who were waiting for him in the parking lot in front of Clara’s building. </p><p>Clara had been disappointed to see them leave so they had made her a large breakfast, complete with eggs and bacon and another batch of pancakes as a way to thank her for her hospitality. They’d promised they would visit again and she made them exchange their numbers. As soon as they had closed the door behind them, she had sent them a photo of her frowning sadly. Steve thought that she had forgotten their original excuse as to what they were doing in Vienna, but right as they had been leaving, she had asked them how the bodybuilding competition had gone. Sam had flexed his bicep, grinned and said, “These babies won.” Clara had nodded seriously, looking at him and Bucky with disappointment. “I told you you were too pale,” she had said. Steve was just glad she hadn’t asked to see Sam’s trophy.</p><p>He rolled up to Sam, Bucky and Scott with the car. They were standing on the pavement, surrounded by their backpacks and wearing shocked expressions on their faces. </p><p>“What?” Steve asked when he got out of the car. He looked around to see if there was anything wrong. </p><p>“Steve?” Scott said carefully. </p><p>“Steve...” Bucky’s tone of voice sounded very weary. </p><p>“Man!” Sam tilted his head in disbelief. </p><p>“What?!” Steve repeated trying to see what was causing his friends so much consternation. </p><p>“Couldn’t you have gotten a smaller car?” Bucky said at the same time Sam said, “What is it with you and tiny cars?”</p><p>Without even giving Steve time to respond, Bucky grumbled, “Why does it have to be a Hyundai again? All we’ve been getting are Hyundais and every time you steal—” </p><p>“Borrow,” Steve interjected. </p><p>Bucky gave him a look. “Every time you steal one it’s smaller than the last one.”</p><p>“Which poor…” Sam gave the old Hyundai i10 a once over, “...family of one did you steal it from?”</p><p>“This time, I nicked it from a dealership,” Steve told them proudly. It had been a large dealership and this car was right on the edge of a large property. Steve doubted they would even notice it was gone until next week. In any case, he felt less bad for stealing—and ok, it <em>was</em> stealing—from a large company than a mother of two. The Hyundai was small and it was an ugly cream color, the kind of color one didn’t expect to see on a car because a color like that was only meant to cover small surfaces because the human eye truly wasn’t meant to take in so much ugliness at once. But it was still bigger than the Beetle they had had at their disposal in Vienna.</p><p>“It’s smaller than the Beetle,” Sam lied because he was a liar. </p><p>“It’s <em>not</em> smaller than the Beetle.” Steve knew for a fact it wasn’t smaller than the Beetle. </p><p>“Kinda really looks like it is,” Bucky agreed with Sam and, Scott, the wise man that he was, instead of getting involved in the argument, shouted, “SHOTGUN.” </p><p>“No!” Sam and Bucky turned to him at the same time, then glared at each other. </p><p>“I’m driving!” They called at the same time. </p><p>“Obviously that means <em>I’m</em> driving,” Steve slyly stepped into the conversation. “You two can have fun squeezing into the back seats.” </p><p>Steve walked up to the pile of backpacks, grabbed two of them and shoved them into the small trunk. Bucky helped with the other two, sending suspicious glares Steve’s way. Before they closed the trunk, Bucky looked Steve right in the eyes, narrowing his own as if searching for something. Steve tried to contain his smile, and he succeeded where his mouth was concerned, but he knew the light in his eyes was dancing with mirth. </p><p>“Oh my god, Rogers, you little shit,” Bucky jammed his finger into Steve’s chest. It hurt more than it should have because he had poked him with his metal arm. “You did this on purpose.” </p><p>Steve couldn’t help but let out the laugh he’d been so expertly holding. “Last time was just <em>so much fun.</em>”</p><p>“You are so annoying.” Bucky slammed the trunk shut, making Steve laugh harder. </p><p>“Come on Barnesy-boy!” Sam called from the rear seat. “I’ve already started manspreading!”</p><p>Bucky leaned in close. “I hope this car can handle winter conditions.” He smirked when he saw Steve’s face fall. “Yeah, didn’t think of that, did you?”</p><p>Steve hadn’t. But then again, “You’re a strong boy, Bucky, I’m sure you can handle some pushin’.” </p><p>With that he stepped sideways, making sure he dragged the back of his hand across Bucky’s lower stomach where his sweater met his jeans. Bucky inhaled. Steve made his way to the driver’s seat with a smirk firmly plastered on his face. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>If you like the fic, reblog this <a href="https://synonym-for-life.tumblr.com/post/637779254866837504/a-hat-a-horse-a-hyundai-and-the-will-to-ride">Tumblr post</a> or this <a href="https://twitter.com/anotherstuckybb/status/1339754748350767104">Twitter post</a> to spread the word! :*</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Yee</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Idk you tell me</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I am <em>begging</em> you to listen to the song Helikopter 117 that is mentioned at the end of this chapter. Find the song <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jqTSAtU-HRA">here</a> and the lyrics along with the English translation <a href="https://www.musixmatch.com/lyrics/Tobee/Helikopter-117-Mach-den-Hub-Hub-Hub/translation/english">here</a>. It is a BANGER if I might say so.</p><p>Oh, another thing. The village Mürren doesn’t actually allow cars, from what I found in my research, so I assume people need to park outside of the village, but for the purposes of this fic let's pretend that small detail doesn't exist.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Late in the evening, they arrived at the address Natasha had texted them during an exhausting twelve-hour drive. Sam and Scott, who had barely managed to keep their eyes open for the better part of the ride, were now kept wide awake by the need to contain the contents of their stomachs where they needed to be. They had started looking a bit queasy when they began driving up a steep twisted road and, by the time they had arrived on top, they were both clutching at their stomachs. </p><p>There was a lot of snow by the sides of the road, but, luckily, no fresh snow had fallen and the small Hyundai managed to overcome the hills just fine, a fact Steve had pointed out several times on the way. Steve swerved onto the parking space behind a medium-sized guesthouse. It was the picture of an Alpine guesthouse, dressed in wood that was fashioned in the traditional way. Its charm almost made Steve feel like he could begin to like the Alps again. </p><p>With heavy sighs and creaky limbs, they got out of the car, took their backpacks and sluggishly made their way across the frozen ground. It was cold, much colder than it had been in Vienna. The first thing they would have to do in the morning was to buy some winter gear so that they wouldn’t freeze to death before they even got to Ross. The second thing they would have to do was borrow some skis. Natasha had said she couldn’t tell exactly when Ross was coming but assured them that she would know when he did. </p><p>When they made it to the lobby, a quaint small room with Christmas lights lining the corners of the walls, the receptionist gave them a once over, smiled nicely and said, “Ah, the referral from Natalia.” She didn’t demand any documents from them and, without further ado, handed them the keys to their suite. The ‘suite’ was just two bedrooms connected by a small living space with a couch, a table and a very small TV screen, and a shared bathroom. </p><p>Steve and Bucky let Sam and Scott shower first, as they were much more tired, with Scott practically swaying on his feet. Bucky and Steve took that time to unpack their meager possessions into the nice wooden wardrobe at the edge of the room. They unloaded all of the spy gear that they had gotten at Yegor’s onto the table by the window. They weren’t able to tell what kind of view this room had as the night was too dark, but Steve thought he could see the shape of the mountain looming above them. He knew that the sight would be beautiful in the morning, but now, in the dead of the night, he couldn’t help but stand in awe of its power.</p><p>Steve showered last and by the time he made it back to his and Bucky’s bedroom, even his eyes were itching for sleep. Bucky was lounging on the bed, his head pillowed, as he perused a black bottle he was holding in his hands. Steve tousled his hair with one of the guesthouse towels, trying to dry it as much as he could so that he wouldn’t completely soak his pillow when he went to bed.</p><p>“What’s that?” He asked, tilting his head sideways and rubbing at it vigorously. </p><p>Bucky merely raised his eyes in answer, then threw the black bottle across the room. If Steve hadn’t had the kind of reflexes he did, it would have hit him smack in the chest. He turned it around to read the aggressive neon-green letters and promptly choked on his own saliva as he did. Wide-eyed, he looked up at Bucky who wasn’t giving anything away with his expression. </p><p>“Umm, now?” Steve cleared his throat twice during that non-sentence. He could feel the heat furiously climbing up his chest which was in full view, free for Bucky to see just how easily he got embarrassed. “I’m really kinda knackered.” </p><p>Bucky shook his head, laughing nervously. “Scott got this. For us.” </p><p>“Scott?” Steve hadn’t thought his voice was even capable of the note it had come out with. He looked down at the violent writing over the front of the bottle. <em>Anal Blast </em>it said in big menacing letters, and below that, in smaller writing, <em>to blast some ass. </em></p><p>“I know, right.” Bucky shook his head in mirth, but Steve could see he was blushing too; not all over like Steve always did, but high on his cheeks, a small tell that he found the situation just as awkward. </p><p>“Where did he even get this?” Steve couldn’t believe a man like Scott Lang could unironically exist in this world. </p><p>“Well,” Bucky coughed to clear his throat. “His exact words were ‘Got you two something back at one of the gas stations.’ And then he threw this at me while you were showering. <em>In front of Sam.</em>”</p><p>“Oh god,” Steve breathed, pushing his face into the towel momentarily. </p><p>“And <em>then</em> he said,” Bucky continued, “‘I saw it by the register and it <em>made me think of you.’”</em></p><p>“Oh <em>god</em>.” Steve buried his face into the towel because he didn’t think he could face anyone knowing that his friend had walked into a gas station, saw anal lube that promised <em>to blast some ass</em> and immediately thought to get it for them. As a gift. </p><p>“We’re never using this,” Steve mumbled into the towel, hoping that Bucky could decipher what he was saying. </p><p>“Never,” Bucky emphatically confirmed. </p><p>Steve stayed buried in the towel for a while longer. When he finally lifted his head, he looked at Bucky then back at the bottle, then around the room, trying to figure out what to do with it. Gingerly, with only his thumb and pointer finger, he carried it to his nightstand, opened the drawer with his other hand and shoved the bottle deep inside. He slammed the drawer shut. Rubbing his hand over his face one last time, he breathed a loaded, “Jesus fucking Christ,” under his breath. </p><p>Bucky’s laughter rang from his side of the bed. He threw an elbow over his face and laughed again and again, and he laughed harder and harder and harder until Steve was laughing with him, shoulders shaking and tears of mirth slipping down his face. He had to lie down on the bed, he was trembling so hard, his entire body seizing. Steve hadn’t laughed this hard for such a long time that he had forgotten how exhilarating it was to absolutely lose your senses to humor. </p><p>It took a long time for them to settle, and even when they did they were still grinning long after they had managed to catch their breath. “Scott Lang really is something else,” Bucky said when he turned off the lights. </p><p>“He truly is,” Steve agreed, shaking his head in disbelief. He threw back the covers and climbed into the bed, settling on the fluffed up pillow. It was hard for him to drift to sleep, the adrenaline rush caused by uncontrollable laughter was making his body buzz with energy. It didn’t help that his thoughts kept slipping to the forbidden contents of the drawer by his side. He kept falling asleep and waking up, a problem exacerbated by the rustling and tossing coming from the other side of the bed. </p><p>“Steve?” Bucky softly called when Steve had woken up and rolled over onto his back, pushed wide awake by the thought that Bucky was <em>right there</em> and not uninclined to let Steve touch him like he had been the last time they had shared a bed. </p><p>“Hmm?” Steve answered. He could feel Bucky roll over onto his side. Bucky scooted closer, close enough for Steve to feel his warmth without touching him. “I was thinking…” </p><p>Steve looked at Bucky’s silhouette, scandalized. He knew exactly what that suggestive tone of voice meant. “No.” </p><p>Bucky scooted closer still then flopped over, practically throwing half of the left side of his body over Steve. A whoosh of air left Steve’s lungs when the metal shoulder hit his sternum. Bucky’s hair tickled his jaw as he pressed his mouth to the shell of Steve’s ear. Oh, this was going to go down badly when it came to Steve’s resolve, he knew it. </p><p>“It just…You know what they say...” Bucky trailed off, considerately making sure Steve had the time to shiver as his lips moved against the sensitive skin of his earlobe. “Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.”</p><p>“Bucky.” Steve tried to sound firm. “We said we would <em>never.</em> It’s weird.” </p><p>“It’s not weird if two men happen to have some—” he practically choked on the next word, “—Anal Blast and decide to use it as God intended for it to be used.” </p><p>“See, it’s even worse when you say it.” Steve pointed out because for fuck’s sake he wouldn’t be caught dead using <em>that</em> given to him by no other than <em>Scott</em>. But then again, Bucky’s metal finger was tracing the hot skin along his collarbone, just cold enough to give him goosebumps and his mind flitted back to the time where those fingers were still flesh ones, circling the skin somewhere much, much lower on his body. Steve gulped. No one had touched him there for such a long time. </p><p>“When did you last…?” Bucky’s fingers traveled further down around the collar of Steve’s t-shirt, over his chest and around his nipple. Steve’s breath caught when the unyielding fingers pinched slightly, then soothed the upset nerves by pressing in gently. </p><p>“Huh?” Steve couldn’t focus and, <em>God</em>, but Bucky was playing a nasty, nasty game. </p><p>“When did you last...ya know,” Steve could hear Bucky swallow against his ear, “<em>do it.</em>”</p><p>Steve hadn’t really wanted to share this, hadn’t really wanted to go there, but he couldn’t help but be honest. “Two years ago.” </p><p>Bucky paused in his ministrations. “Oh.” </p><p>“Yeah,” Steve said softly, glad that they weren’t looking at each other. There was too much Bucky could read in his eyes.</p><p>“But no one...you know,” his voice caught because it was hard to talk about this because they had <em>never</em> even tried, “I mean. I always fucked them.” </p><p>Steve had gone out a couple of times after waking up in the new century, searching for something to ground him. He had thought maybe some physical contact would do the trick, so he’d gone out and he’d listened to the strange thundering music that made his chest vibrate and pushed between the writhing bodies until he had found a willing one, and many of them were willing—another thing he couldn’t quite get used to. He had taken some of them home, but none of it had felt right, not the way they moved, not the way they touched him, not the way he didn’t actually want them anyway. Every morning-after, he had woken up feeling empty. He hadn’t liked any of these people, he hadn’t <em>known</em> any of them and, finally, he had to admit he hadn’t enjoyed them either. He’d orgasmed, yes, but all the while he felt like he was betraying himself. He’d longed for the kind of connection he’d had with Peggy. He had given up on ever having one like he’d had with Bucky the moment he saw him fall. </p><p>“Why is that?” Bucky rose up onto his elbow, looking down at Steve. </p><p>Steve tried to shrug under the weight pressing onto him. “They just all seemed to think that was what I wanted. You know ‘cause I’m big. I never corrected them.” </p><p>“Do you though? Want it like that?” Bucky’s mouth was hovering above Steve's, their breaths mixing. His hand slipped down Steve’s stomach and around his back, then down. Bucky squeezed. Steve’s breath caught. </p><p>“Yeah—I, yeah,” Steve nodded minutely, flushing at the memory of a dildo he had ordered online after S.H.I.E.L.D. had given him his apartment and the way he had opened up the package with trembling fingers, then shoved it into the depths of his closet where it had stayed for months. Not forever, though. But Steve would never tell that to a living soul. </p><p>Bucky’s hair fell all around Steve’s face as he kissed him. Steve responded, mouth moving against Bucky’s as Bucky climbed more firmly over him, pressing him into the mattress with his insisting mouth. Steve pushed his fingers into Bucky’s hair and tilted his head, taking Bucky’s tongue deeper into his mouth. He sensed Bucky’s shoulders tremble as he pushed his leg more firmly between Bucky’s. Steve’s own hips bucked at the friction that he had created and he pulled Bucky closer still, rubbing against him until he was fully hard and panting. </p><p>Bucky pushed himself up with his arms, away from Steve’s demanding hands, angling himself towards the bedside table. </p><p>“No. Shut up.” He pressed the palm of his flesh hand against Steve’s mouth when Steve gave a sound of protest. “Get out of your clothes instead.” </p><p>He pulled open the drawer and, reaching far inside, pulled out the bottle of lube. Steve hadn’t taken his advice to undress. When Bucky brought the lube in his line of sight, Steve met Bucky’s eyes above it, a thick lump in his throat. He couldn’t see Bucky’s eyes very well, but he could make out the glint in them and it made a heavy fire settle at the bottom of his abdomen. With a swift move, he took the edge of his t-shirt in his hands and pulled it over his head. Bucky smirked and, throwing the bottle onto the top of the bedding, followed suit. They practically scrambled to get off their pants next, underwear following. Steve’s heart rate picked up when he saw Bucky’s naked form. He didn’t even wait for Bucky to fully drag down his underwear before his hands were on him, running down his chest, his hips, along his thighs. </p><p>Bucky’s mouth crashed into Steve’s again, hands roaming. He pressed Steve back down onto his back and pushed his legs apart so that he could get between them. Fumbling around the bedding with his hand, he found the bottle again and, finally tearing his lips from Steve’s gasping mouth, Bucky breathed, “How do you— How do you wanna do it?”</p><p>Steve could barely find his voice, high on the feeling of Bucky’s skin against his, hot and getting sweaty. “I—can you.” He waved his hand in the direction of his nether regions crudely, but Bucky understood. He opened the bottle, pouring out some lube onto his hand. Bending down, he pressed his lips against Steve’s neck. He grazed his teeth along Steve’s skin and Steve’s head fell back, overwhelmed. </p><p>“Open up,” Bucky whispered, and Steve obeyed, taking hold of his leg, bending it to give Bucky better access. </p><p>When Bucky’s fingers first made contact with the hot skin of his perineum, Steve shivered, the lube too cold. Bucky bit his neck taking his mind away from the discomfort and traced the fingers lower, rubbing against Steve’s hole. Steve pulled Bucky’s head up again to press their mouths together, gasping as Bucky’s fingers became more and more insistent until one of them pressed in. Steve’s body drew up, nervous all of a sudden, but Bucky’s finger slid in without problem and Steve relaxed into the bed, marveling at the feeling. </p><p>Bucky prepared him thoroughly, reapplying lube, fingering him until Steve was writhing on the bed before there were even more than two fingers inside of him. When Bucky pressed in a third one, Steve wasn’t far from begging. He pushed his hips down in time with Bucky’s movements, breath catching whenever Bucky’s knuckles grazed his prostate. His dick was leaking so much precome that, had he still had his underwear on, big wet splotches would have formed over the front. </p><p> </p><p>With one last bite to Steve’s neck, Bucky pulled back to slick himself up. Steve pulled his legs up further, unable to find even a trace of embarrassment at the way he was splayed open, too hot and too needy for Bucky to get inside of him again. After all those years. Decades. There were decades between the last time they’d done this and finally, finally, the head of Bucky’s dick was breaching him. Steve clutched the sheets as Bucky pressed in slowly but unrelentingly until he was flush with Steve’s body. His head fell forward and he cursed, gripping Steve’s biceps almost so hard it hurt. Steve had always loved that Bucky had never held back on him. Even back when he was small and incontestably frail and weak, when Steve had told Bucky ‘<em>harder’,</em> Bucky gave it to him, not shying away from grabbing Steve’s hips in a bruising grip and giving him what he wanted. </p><p>So when Steve urged him on now, because he would never be more ready for this than he was, Bucky obeyed, starting to move his hips, creating delicious friction as he slid out and pushed back in. Steve’s legs wrapped around him, pulling him close. He ran the palm of his hand down Bucky’s back, feeling his muscles spasming and flexing as he moved above Steve, breathless. </p><p>There was no hoping for Steve to last. The constant pressure against his prostate made his dick twitch with practically every thrust and the way their bodies rubbed together created additional friction. Bucky pressed his mouth against Steve’s cheek and moaned so loudly and so dirtily that Steve’s hips thrust up, then down, moving in time with Bucky until Bucky picked up the pace, thrusting into Steve harder, not even letting him move anymore, the force of his movements giving Steve everything he needed and then, <em>then</em>, Bucky let his mouth slide from Steve’s jaw to his ear, and he <em>licked it.</em> He swiped his tongue along Steve’s earlobe and <em>in</em>, knowing full well that Steve was disgusting enough to come at the feeling of his wet tongue in his ear. That was exactly what happened, too, Steve’s eyes rolled back into his head and his hips flew up to search some final friction from Bucky’s stomach and then he was coming, Bucky’s labored breaths puffing against the side of his face as his body trembled and trembled from the force of his orgasm. </p><p>“You really—” Bucky panted as his rhythm faltered when Steve’s ass squeezed tightly around him. “All I gotta do is tongue-fuck your ear and you’re coming— Ahh, Jesus fucking Christ, Steve.”</p><p>Steve tried to swat Bucky right over his face for that comment, but his limbs weren’t obeying so he ended up clutching the back of Bucky’s neck instead. “C’mon, Buck,” he muttered because his prostate was getting tender from the continued stimulation. He pulled Bucky down into a sloppy, uncoordinated kiss and Bucky moaned right into his mouth as the muscles in his body seized up and he came hard, spilling inside Steve. He kept thrusting until he was spent. </p><p>“And all I gotta do is kiss you badly,” Steve teased as Bucky fell forward, sticky and exhausted. They lay like that for a while, recovering, then Steve gently pushed Bucky off him and lifted himself up into a seating position. He searched for his underwear in the pile of sheets around them and, finding it, he pulled it on and stood up. </p><p>“Steve?” </p><p>“Just gonna pop into the bathroom,” Steve waved at the exit of the room. He cast around with his eyes, trying to find his t-shirt too but gave up on it when he couldn’t see it anywhere. </p><p>“Is everything ok?” Bucky pushed himself onto his hands, a puzzled expression on his face. </p><p>“Sure.” Steve shrugged. “Other than your jizz running out of my ass,” Steve snapped, regretting his tone immediately. He sighed. “I’ll be back in a minute.”</p><p>He took off for the bathroom, pushing open the wooden door. He squinted at the bright lighting when he flipped on the switch, only sparing himself a glance in the mirror. Bucky’s teeth marks were still visible on his neck, but they would be gone by the morning. He lifted the lid of the toilet, pushed down his pants and sat on it. He wasn’t being facetious when he’d said Bucky’s come was running out of his ass. It was and it made his face burn in shame. He dropped his head into his hands for a moment, letting the familiar guilt flow over him. He had tried to get rid of this feeling, had tried to logic out of it, tried to reason with himself, but it crept up on him every single time. It wasn’t even that he thought what they were doing was wrong. He had come to the conclusion that, if so many people were this way, they couldn’t all be sinful. The thing was, Steve had never hated himself for this, but it seemed like shame went deeper than his own opinion of himself. It snuck up on you in the form of words he’d heard whispered before he could even understand them, it crawled closer in the form of sneers he’d seen thrown at women and men who refused to conform. </p><p>He sat with his guilt for a while, not letting it consume him, but letting it wash over him nonetheless. Denying it hadn’t ever made it better. Then he wiped his ass, washed his hands and went back to the room. He sat down at the edge of the bed first, not bothering to check if Bucky was awake. He knew he was. </p><p>Bucky was quiet at first. When he spoke, it was carefully, weighing his words, “If you want to, you can fuck me next time.” </p><p>Steve huffed. “It’s not that.” </p><p>“I can wear a condom next time.” Steve hated that he had made Bucky feel like he’d done something wrong.</p><p>“No it’s. That’s not…” Steve took in a deeper breath. “Do you never feel bad? About what we’re doing? What we did?” he said into the empty air, choosing to keep his back turned to Bucky as an illusion of privacy. </p><p>Bucky breathed out a weighted breath. “I used to. Not anymore, though.” </p><p>“I still do sometimes. Not— I don’t <em>think</em> it’s bad, what we do. I just can’t help it. I get this weird feeling like I did something wrong.” Steve shook his head. Sometimes he was so goddamn tired of his own brain. </p><p>“I know,” Bucky said softly. “I used to feel that too, you know I did. Back then...things were different in our time. It’s weird, but I actually think Hydra helped me get rid of that in a way. They… it was important for the Soldier to not think of people as anything else than bodies. People were always just bodies and they all died in the same way when you shot a bullet through their head. In a twisted way, this helped with that, I think. Because bodies are bodies and if you like them, who cares about the anatomy. It’s sex and if you both wanna do it, you should be free to do it as you please.” </p><p>“That makes sense.” Steve nodded. His feet were getting cold with the room temperature dropping at night. “Unsure if I should take the same course, though.” </p><p>“Probably not.” Bucky laughed, the sheets rustling as he settled back onto the bed. “He threw back the covers on Steve’s side. The sheets brushed Steve’s naked back. “Come back to bed, Rogers, you can angst over it lying down, too.” </p><p>That made Steve smile despite himself. He followed Bucky’s advice and laid down, pulling the duvet up to his chin. Talking about it had alleviated some of the weight of the emotions pressing onto his shoulders and he could breathe more freely again. “Thanks, Buck,” he told the ceiling warmly, meaning every word. </p><p>“Anytime, Stevie,” Bucky muttered back and, after a while, they both drifted off into deep sleep. </p><p> </p><p>✩✩✩✩✩✩</p><p> </p><p>Steve made it to breakfast in a considerably better mood the next day, still buzzing from the previous night’s activities. It had felt nice to wake up next to Bucky again and note how his face had become much less strained than it had been back at Sevastopol. They piled their breakfast trays with freshly baked buns, dollops of butter, jam and Nutella and another plate with scrambled eggs, cheese and salami. Their plates were so full food was spilling over the sides. Steve sat down behind their table in the dining room, gingerly settling the tray onto the surface. He still had to get some coffee and orange juice as that hadn’t fit onto the tray, but he had to have some of the scrambled eggs first. They were steaming deliciously. He dove in, not noticing Sam and Scott’s eager expressions. </p><p>“So?” Scott said with puppy-like excitement. Bucky and Steve both looked up from their respective plates, eyebrows raised. </p><p>“So what?” Bucky asked, taking another forkful of the eggs. Steve followed suit. </p><p>“Did you use it?” Scott waggled his eyebrows seductively. </p><p>Steve choked on his food. Coughing, he barely managed to get out a high-pitched, “What?”</p><p>“Sam and I have a bet,” Scott joyfully explained, spreading more butter on his toast. “I bet that you were gonna use the lube the first night. Sam bet the second. So I need to know if I won.” </p><p>Bucky didn’t look quite as flabbergasted as Steve did at their friends involving themselves into their sex life, but his fork still stayed in the air halfway to his mouth. He cleared his throat and the fork traveled onwards. After he had swallowed down its contents, he said, “I don’t kiss and tell.” </p><p>“Oh, you <em>did </em>kiss then, did you?” Scott chirped delightedly. Bucky gave him a long hard look. “Steve?” Scott turned to him. “Do <em>you </em>kiss and tell?”</p><p>“No,” Steve choked out. He might not kiss and tell but his face sure did what with how it was downright flaming. </p><p>Scott winked exaggeratedly and Sam laughed. Sam, who had been quiet up until then, pointed at their plates with his knife. “I hate to say, but judging by the amount of food on those plates, I really think I lost the bet.” He smirked. “You two eat a lot, but that is an extreme amount of food and I know for a fact you two will go for another serving.”</p><p>Steve glared at him for a while then gestured closing his mouth with a zipper, locking it and throwing the key away. Bucky looked at him wickedly then did the same. The only problem was Scott and Sam were playing the long game. All through breakfast, through Steve and Bucky’s second serving, through their two cups of coffee (because they needed it, goddammit, they had stayed up half of the night), Scott and Sam were sending them suggestive looks, raising their eyebrows and sending them lewd winks. When Scott sneaked out his tongue from in between his mouth and wiggled it like he was a horny snake, Steve threw his tenth freshly-baked bun down onto the plate. “Fine!” He threw his hand up. “We fucked! Okay, there it is, we fucked! Happy now?!” </p><p>Bucky gave Steve a scathing look in time with Scott yelping and pumping the air with his fists. Scott turned to Sam, making mocking finger guns at him, pretending to shoot him. “I told you! I told you they were too horny.” </p><p>“See,” Bucky said accusingly, “this is what you did.” </p><p>Steve wished he could drop his head onto the table and bang his forehead against the wood, but there was food in the way and he wasn’t desperate enough to slam his head into a pile of jam.</p><p>“I hate every single one of you,” he grumbled instead. Everyone laughed, even Bucky. Traitor. </p><p>Steve was saved by all of their cell phones pinging at the same time. They scrambled to unlock them, knowing it couldn’t be anyone else but Nat. The message read <em>Ross checked in during the night. From my sources, he’s already up and ready to go skiing, so you guys better get your creaky old asses onto the slopes and try to find him. Remember: blue helmet, yellow jacket, black ski suit pants. And, you know, the mustache. Look for a guy who skis quite well, but is alone. Except if he’s meeting someone, no intel on that.</em></p><p>The message ended up with a series of, to Steve’s eye, unrelated emojis, among them various types of animals and weather emojis. It was either a subtle joke or Nat simply liked them, it was hard to tell. He didn’t dwell on it further; they had a mission to complete and the Black Widow to impress. From Sam’s and Scott’s eyes, Steve could tell that was more than enough motivation.</p><p>They went out in search of skiing equipment, buying where they needed to and borrowing where they didn’t need to buy. In an hour, they were back in their rooms, pulling on the suits. Scott had insisted on buying a retro one-piece suit, looking like someone who’d dressed up as an archetypical skier for Halloween. </p><p>Despite multiple difficulties, they managed to cram all of the equipment into the Hyundai. This time Steve had to sit in the back ‘for punishment’, being poked by skis and ski poles from all sides. Luckily, the drive to the gondola was short and Steve scrambled out of the car as soon as it had stopped. Sam went to buy them ski passes, being the first to have pulled his ski boots on, while the others finished readying themselves. Steve was incredibly glad that S.H.I.E.L.D. had insisted on teaching him how to ski. It would have been rather embarrassing if he started falling all over the place. He might <em>still</em> fall; it wasn’t like he was very good at it. Passable, sure, but the ski instructor had told him without qualms that he had absolutely zero talent and the only thing that was saving him was his strength and good coordination. Steve’s assessment of his skill was correct. On the first really steep slope that they had taken, Steve hit a bump and tumbled down the hill until he hit the fresh snow by the side. He wasn’t the only one, though; Scott fell soon after when a skilled skier skied by too close to him and he got spooked. They all soon got better, finding the feeling again. None of them, bar Sam, had skied in a long time. Sam’s family on the other hand, went skiing every year. Him, his mother, father and two sisters, all took a trip to the mountains every January and skied their hearts out. Sam, Steve supposed, was the only one who would be able to follow Ross if Ross was actually that good. </p><p>They skied all morning with no sight of Ross anywhere. There weren’t as many people there as there probably were in the winter, but there were numerous trails on the mountain and it was easy to miss a lone skier when all you really had to go on was ‘blue helmet, yellow jacket, black ski pants’. Even Steve and Bucky were tired when they once again got down to one of the several seat lifts empty-handed. They stepped to the side, waiting for Scott and Sam as they had waited on top, deciding to descend a bit later in case Steve and Bucky had missed Ross. Sam was a speedy dot on the hill when he skied to the bottom, snowing Steve and Bucky’s skis as he stopped. He was panting heavily. Steve knew his legs had to be burning; skiing was extremely tiring on the legs especially after as many weeks of inactivity as they had. </p><p>“He’s coming,” Sam panted. </p><p>“Scott?” Steve asked, not daring to hope. </p><p>Sam shook his head, gasping out. “Ross. I rushed down to warn you to turn away for a bit. Scott is tailing him. Turns out Ross isn’t such a good skier after all. Or I’m just that good.” </p><p>Sam grinned cheekily motioning for them to angle their bodies to the side so that their faces weren’t visible to the skiers coming down. Luckily the ski gear hid them almost entirely, especially if they pulled up the scarves over their mouths, but one could never be too careful. They finally saw a blue helmet descending downhill and Scott’s form following it far enough behind so as not to get noticed. It didn’t take Ross long to pass them, his characteristic mustache looking a bit frozen in the cold weather. He got in line for the seat lift, and Steve, Sam and Bucky followed, covering their faces entirely. Scott caught up to them just as Ross was getting onto his seat lift alone. They waited for theirs and followed behind. Steve followed Ross’s movements through the transparent plastic windbreaker. He saw him take off his gloves, rummage in his pockets for his phone and type something. Then he pushed the phone under the helmet, apparently taking a call. </p><p>“Quick, who has the backpack?” Steve asked. It was Bucky who had it. He hurried to take it off, catching onto what Steve wanted to do. He opened the zipper and searched for the long-range microphone. It was attached to an extendable rod that could be stretched and was able to capture sound from a fair few feet around. It wasn’t the newest of tech, it even looked a bit clunky, but it was a solid design, and when he and Bucky had tested it when bringing it back from Yegor’s, it had worked well. </p><p>Bucky extended the rod and fumbled with the buttons on the part of the machine with all the settings. He finally managed to catch the right range and Ross’s snobbish voice sounded from the speaker. </p><p>“Listen, I don’t care if it’s in the middle of the night. I don’t care. Just bring me those bags of serum before someone figures out I’m doing this. No. No, I haven’t heard about Rogers and Barnes. They disappeared after Vienna. No. No, they didn’t figure it out, there’s no way. Okay. What? Yes, I’ve already told you the department hasn’t been supportive of my attempts ever since I failed, so I have to do it by myself. This is it. This is <em>it.</em> We have the serum. All we have to do is administer a few bags of it to see if it works and then duplicate it as many times as we can. Infinite supply. No one will be laughing at me then.”</p><p>Sam, Scott, Steve and Bucky all glanced at each other. So Nat was right. They had managed to extract the serum from the soldiers and someone was bringing it to Switzerland for Ross to take over. </p><p>“I have a guy at Cern that will know what to do with it.” Ross laughed at something his contact said. “Cern has long stopped only doing nuclear research. They’ve expanded their horizons. Plus, they can keep their mouths shut unlike literally everyone else in this branch of business.” </p><p>“Right, I gotta get off the ski lift. One more ride, then I’m done. These old legs can’t take much anymore. But I’ll be damned. I might be here for business, but I sure as hell will enjoy some vacation as well. I deserve it after all this trouble. Right, tomorrow night, parking lot by the gondola. Bring some backup. Better safe than sorry.” </p><p>Ross hung up just as the seat lift that he was on arrived at the upper station. Phone in hand, he got off then skied slowly down the hill, tucking it back in. The four of them got off not long after, making a wide berth. They made sure to slow down just enough to see which final trail Ross took. They chose a different one. They had all the information they needed, the stars having aligned just right. Steve couldn’t believe how lucky they were. For once during this trip, everything was going as planned. </p><p>Hungry and exhausted from all the skiing, they stopped at one of the restaurants on the slopes. The wooden huts with wooden tables outside and wooden benches surrounding them were almost enough to convince Steve the mountains weren’t so bad. The view was definitely exquisite. There were snow-capped mountains everywhere they looked and below them was a valley, peppered with tiny houses and winding roads. The day was beautiful too. Gone was the morning fog; the sun had peeked out of the clouds and was warming them up, almost making the ski suits too hot to wear. There was a DJ outside of the restaurant, playing upbeat music. People were dancing in their ski boots, awkwardly stomping around, many of them holding cups of mulled wine in their hands, clearly enjoying the last throes of the skiing season.</p><p>They decided to eat outside in the sun, only popping inside to get the food. The line at self-service was long and the smells coming from the kitchen so sweet they made Steve even more impatient. Their mouths watering, they ordered some meat with potatoes and sauce and Steve ordered a Kaiserschmarrn on the side. Bucky opted for not one but three Germknödel’s for desert. Sam and Scott were more humble and had only ordered one each. </p><p>They settled down at one of the tables outside, enjoying the buzz of skiers coming and going. Sam danced to the beat of the songs as he ate and Scott kept nodding his head dramatically at every bass drop. Steve didn’t know most of the songs and he suspected he wasn’t the only one as many of them were in German, French and Italian. Some of them were remixes of what sounded like traditional folk music, the bass blasting out of the speakers along with the accordion and trumpets. Scott nodded his head especially vigorously at those. </p><p>When a particular German pop song came on, Bucky perked up listening to the lyrics, then quietly started chuckling into his food. Steve listened more closely. He didn’t speak German like Bucky did, but he had picked up enough during the war to understand the gist of the song.</p><p>
  <em>Mach den Hub Hub Hub, mach den Schrauber, Schrauber, Schrauber, mach den Helikopter Eins Eins Sieben. </em>
</p><p>From what Steve could tell the song was about...how a helicopter worked and what sounds it made. He had no clue why Bucky found it so amusing. The song became more and more fast-paced. </p><p>
  <em>Der Propeller, -peller, -peller, immer schneller, schneller, schneller, der Propeller, -peller, -peller, immer schneller, schneller, schneller. </em>
</p><p>Bucky looked at Steve from the side, mirth that he was barely containing clear in his eyes. </p><p>“What?” Steve asked, unable to stop laughing himself, even if it was only at Bucky. </p><p>Bucky looked at him with tears in his eyes and choked out, “I almost killed you with a helicopter.” </p><p>The <em>der Propeller, -peller, -peller, immer schneller, schneller, schneller</em> part of the song got faster and faster in the background.</p><p>“Oh my god,” Steve laughed for real this time, finally clocking onto the humor. “You <em>did</em> almost kill me with a helicopter.” </p><p>Bucky threw his head back and laughed openly then. “This is our song, Steve.” </p><p>“You two,” Sam pointed between them with the mug of hot tea that he was holding, “need help.” </p><p>Bucky and Steve only laughed harder. </p><p>That day ended up being one of the best days Steve had ever had. Surrounded by great friends, a mission going well, and good food in his belly, the day couldn’t be more perfect than it was. The only thing that soured the feeling of joy was Bucky dancing with a beautiful girl, but he tried to brush that aside. He told himself that he had so much to be thankful for while avoiding Sam’s sympathizing eyes. </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thanks for sticking with me till here! One more chapter to come later today! I'm so excited for you to see how it all goes down!</p><p>If you like the fic, reblog this <a href="https://synonym-for-life.tumblr.com/post/637779254866837504/a-hat-a-horse-a-hyundai-and-the-will-to-ride">Tumblr post</a> or this <a href="https://twitter.com/anotherstuckybb/status/1339754748350767104">Twitter post</a> to spread the word! :*</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Haw</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>!Yee-fucking-haw!</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I have to thank my betas here again, <a href="https://whiskyandwildflowers.tumblr.com/">whiskyandwildflowers</a> and <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/agentmoppet/pseuds/agentmoppet">agentmoppet</a> for the speediest most kind betaing ever. They betaed the last chapters on such short notice, encouraging me all the time &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Guten abend,” the receptionist at their guesthouse greeted kindly when they made it back inside, pleasantly exhausted after an entire day spent on the snow. “How did skiing go? Was it a nice day up on the mountain?”</p><p>“Gorgeous,” Sam replied, giving the young woman a charming smile. To Sam’s misfortune, this woman had had her sights set on Bucky ever since the first time she saw him at breakfast. Bucky had clocked onto it immediately, following her with his gaze playfully. One time, Steve could even see him wink. </p><p>“It would have been even better if you’d joined us. I bet you could show us some tricks on the skis.” Bucky turned up his charm like Sam had, but much more successfully. Sam made a gagging sound behind him. Steve had to agree. </p><p>Old, many-a-time-recycled anger and jealousy mixed in his stomach whenever Bucky pulled something like this. It didn’t help that the memory of Bucky stomping to the beat of dance songs with a pretty blond woman was so fresh in his mind. All of it brought Steve back to the dance halls they had visited together back in Brooklyn and which Steve had, more often than not, left by himself as Bucky had been too busy twirling Alexandra and Mary and Lily Jane and Barbara and and and and. </p><p>“Oh please!” The receptionist waved her hand as if dismissing the compliment, but no one missed the pleased little smile on her face. “By the way, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but we’re having a movie night in the dining room on Friday. We do it every week, we push back the tables and put in some comfy chairs for our hotel guests to enjoy a movie together and hang out after at the bar. We’re a smaller guesthouse so there are never too many people. It’s all very pleasant and homely.”</p><p>“Well, in that case,” Bucky gave her a small wink, “we’ll certainly come. Thank you for letting us know.” </p><p>He nodded and gave her a little wave as he set off for their rooms. The rest of them followed, Steve quietly seething at the back. He knew most of the anger was born of jealousy that spanned decades, but he hated how, now that he felt like he and Bucky were...well, getting somewhere with their weird relationship, having shared more and more intimate details with each other, this jealousy was spilling over the lid that he thought he’d tightly sealed long ago. The other reason for his anger was that the more he saw the person Bucky had become, the more he hated this fake front he still insisted on putting up in front of people. </p><p>Steve lasted until they made it to their room and then, when Bucky was shucking off his winter jacket, Steve’s bad mood jumped out. “Do you <em>have to</em> flirt with everyone?” </p><p>Steve would have felt bad about the accusation in his tone, but Sam had told him he had to talk to Bucky and, well, there he was talking about it. Talking about what pissed him off.  </p><p>“What?” Bucky didn’t even pay him any mind, as he walked to their wardrobe to take out the hanger for the jacket. </p><p>“It pisses me off when you flirt with people like that in front of me, okay.” Steve pulled down the zipper of his own jacket a bit too forcefully. “It’s—I—It’s just weird, okay? When you do it after we fucked the night before.” </p><p>Bucky turned to face him, finally ready to take Steve seriously. “I flirt with everyone, Steve. I always have. You <em>know</em> that.” </p><p>“Well, it’s annoying,” Steve told him as he chucked the beanie he was for some reason still wearing onto the bed. “And you don’t flirt with everyone. You never flirt with me.” </p><p>The last bit was mumbled out. Steve knew he had no right to demand anything from Bucky, not after he’d said such stupid things in the past week to his face. He knew they had hurt him, Steve wasn’t an idiot. Except that he was when it came to this stuff. There had just always been so much tension between them, so many unsaid things they had been dragging around for much too long.</p><p>“Are you fucking kidding me?” was Bucky’s incredulous response. “I’ve been flirting with you my whole life. If you’re too obtuse to notice, that’s not my problem.”</p><p>Steve felt like he had opened a can of worms, convinced that this conversation was going to get out of hand very quickly. He was helpless to stop it though, all the resentment spilling forth in an avalanche. </p><p>“Not like that, you don’t.” He looked Bucky dead in the eye, standing his ground.</p><p>“Because you’re not some random receptionist, Steve!” Bucky threw his hands up, clearly getting incensed by this conversation as well. </p><p>“What am I then?” Steve asked. Silence fell over them as they stared at each other.</p><p>There. Sam could have this for a conversation. He might have meant it to go less aggressively, but Steve didn’t care. It was like all of the feelings he’d ever felt in relation to Bucky were mixing inside of him; desire, confusion, joy, sadness, grief, rejection, jealousy, and a love so intense his feet would have given out had he let himself think about it for too long. “What have I <em>been?</em> All those fucking years. Don’t act like I’m the only one who’s avoided that question. You never wanted to talk about it either. What have I <em>been</em>, Bucky? A good steady fuck? An extra hand for jerking off? ‘Cause that’s how I felt most’a the time.” </p><p>Bucky looked like he’d been slapped. His chest filled with air and he let the breath out through his nose heavily, nostrils flaring.</p><p>“You fucking bastard,” he hissed as he walked closer. His hair was in a bun, but many strands had escaped. That, coupled with the intensity of his gaze, made him look wild. “I’ve been in love with you since we were <em>ten.</em>” </p><p>It was Steve’s turn to reel back from the force of Bucky’s words. Ten. Bucky had said...he was...“What?” </p><p>“Why do you think I suggested we start doing all that shit together?” Bucky laughed but it was without mirth. “I was fucking gone for you, Steve. Since when I can remember I was fucking <em>gone </em>for you.”</p><p>It was hard, wrapping his mind around that confession. Especially when Steve had spent the better part of his youth wishing Bucky had loved him back. His voice came out bitter when he responded. “Had a real good way of showing that.”</p><p>Bucky opened his mouth to interject, but Steve kept talking. “Guess you weren’t gone for me enough to stop fucking all those women. Don’t even try to tell me you didn’t. I heard them talking about it one time, did you know? Yeah, Barbara and Lily Jane. Heard them discuss exactly how good you were with your fingers.” Steve didn’t flinch away from Bucky’s gaze when he added the last sentence, driving his point home. “Good thing I already knew.”</p><p>Bucky swallowed. His eyes were glinting now too and Steve could tell he was no longer the only one who was angry. Good. </p><p>“If you’re gonna throw that in my face, Rogers, what do you have to say for yourself then? You and Peggy,” he spat her name out condescendingly. “As soon as you got big and famous you shacked up with the first hot woman that wanted you and didn’t look at me once. And I fucking <em>needed </em>you back then.” </p><p>“Oh, no you don’t get to flip this on me.” Steve jerked in Bucky’s direction with his finger. “You kept pushing me away every chance you got during the war.”</p><p>“Why’d you think that was, huh?” Bucky’s voice was rough. “Saw the way you looked at her when we got back to camp. You think I missed that? You only ever used to look at me that way.” </p><p>“Peggy’s one woman!” Steve’s voice rose despite himself, his hands flying around angrily. but he knew, deep down he knew, he should have tried harder. He had seen that Bucky was suffering, had seen the dark moods he had been getting sucked into for days on end, but Steve had been riding the high of finally getting to be the hero and he had been looking at the world with one eye shut. He couldn’t deny Peggy’s attention only intensified that feeling. Still, Peggy wasn’t dozens of eligible young women. “You shacked up with half of Brooklyn and don’t you fucking dare tell me you didn’t enjoy it.”</p><p>“I always came home to YOU!” Bucky exploded, breathing hard. There was wetness in the corner of his eyes now and his mouth was red and furious. His voice broke when he continued, “You never...you never would have come home from her.”</p><p>Steve felt like he had when he was still small and getting punched in the plexus. All of the air left his lungs as he deflated, the fight leaving his body with it. He walked-—more like stumbled—backward and sagged into the wooden chair by the window. The backrest had a heart cut-out at the top. He stared through it for a long time before saying anything. </p><p>“I only ever had one home, Bucky.” Steve pressed his fingers to his eyes because there were hot tears gathering there, threatening to fall. “I can’t say what would have happened, but I need you to know that. And if I’d known back then, about you...Peggy wouldn’t have had a single chance with me.” </p><p>The mattress creaked when Bucky sat down on it heavily. Steve’s hands were trembling from all the emotions that had finally been given a voice. The thing was, as Steve reflected on it, he <em>had </em>known. He had known how Bucky felt and Bucky, somewhere deep inside, must have known how Steve felt. They had just been too afraid and once unsaid words started piling up, they choked you and didn’t even let you speak.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Bucky said, voice thick. “I’m just...I’m so fucking sorry.” </p><p>Steve finally found the strength to lift his gaze, despite the wetness that had spilled down his cheeks. He supposed Bucky had already seen the most pathetic side of him, what were a few more tears. “I’m sorry, too.” </p><p>They stayed like that, staring at each other, for a long time. Steve could feel relief flooding his lungs. It was almost as if the weight from all the contained emotions had been accumulating like stalagmites and now they had finally started chipping away. </p><p>“What now?” Bucky asked after a while. </p><p>“We learn, I guess. How to be better to each other. How to do it in a different world.” Steve looked into Bucky’s eyes, noting how they didn’t even hold a trace of pretense the way they had when he was putting on a mask earlier. His eyes were big, blue and sincere. “The end of the line is still the same.” </p><p>Bucky nodded. “The end of the line is still the same.”</p><p>He smiled at Steve even as, on a shuddering breath, tears fell from his eyes. Steve pushed himself up from the chair and walked over to the bed. He took hold of Bucky’s hand and pulled him up, slowly but surely wrapping his arms around him, just hugging him, feeling Bucky’s body melt into his and his melt into Bucky’s. Bucky pressed his mouth into the crook of Steve’s shoulder. </p><p>“Thank you for loving me,” he whispered. </p><p>Steve knew what he meant. Thank you for loving me despite everything, despite all the hurt I caused you, despite all the things I did, despite who they’ve made me become. Steve knew because he felt the same. </p><p>“Thank you for loving me, too,” he said into the fabric of Bucky’s t-shirt. Truth be told, he didn’t think anyone else could ever love him the way Bucky did.</p><p> </p><p>✩✩✩✩✩✩ </p><p> </p><p>Steve and Bucky managed to collect themselves by dinner time. There was a bit of awkwardness in the air between them, unused, as they were, to talking about their feelings. Even the awkwardness couldn’t prevent them from stealing glances at each other, though. Nothing much had changed, but it seemed like everything had. The gnawing doubt was gone and another feeling had started settling in between them. Steadiness. Calm. Surety. Despite the storm of emotions from earlier, Steve couldn’t help smiling as he piled his dinner plate with Wienerschnitzel and mashed potatoes.  </p><p>When he sat down behind the table next to Bucky, like he had in the morning, Scott clapped his hands together excitedly. He grinned. “So?” </p><p>Bucky and Steve both looked at him with horrified expressions on their faces.</p><p>“Oh, no, we’re not doing this again.” Bucky shook his head, stabbing his chicken fillet with a fork. “You two get out of our business.” </p><p>“We heard shouting.” Sam’s eyes weren’t quite as gleeful as Scott’s. There was even some concern in them. “But you two seem very chipper.” </p><p>Before Scott had even finished chewing the bit of food he had popped into his mouth, he spoke, “I bet Sam that you two were having a heart to heart. Sam seemed to think you wouldn’t do that by shouting.” </p><p>“I didn’t think they <em>wouldn’t</em>, I just hoped they’d know better.” He gave Steve a scathing look. Steve shrugged. It wasn’t like he hadn’t done what Sam had told him to. He just did it differently. </p><p>When neither Steve nor Bucky said anything further on the topic, Scott poked further.</p><p>“So, you two are, like, boyfriends now?” he said hopefully, looking between them with pride. Steve and Bucky both grimaced at the word.</p><p>“Right, right, not boyfriends.” Scott pressed the top of his fork against his mouth, thinking. “Partners then. Like, <em>howdy pardner</em>, you know, kinda like cowboys.” </p><p>Steve and Bucky glanced at each other, fully aware of the irony. Small Steve and Bucky wouldn’t have minded being cowboys at all. Grown-up Steve and Bucky didn’t mind much either. </p><p>Later, after they had finished playing rummy at the table in the living room and everyone had gone to their rooms, Steve stepped into his and Bucky’s bedroom freshly showered. The atmosphere was lighter than it had ever been before. Gone was the uncomfortable tension, and all that remained was the tension caused by the heat of their gazes. Bucky’s eyes slid down Steve’s torso to the towel he was holding wrapped up around his waist. </p><p>“You know, I was thinking,” Bucky said. </p><p>“Ouch,” Steve replied because he had never been able to help himself and he wasn’t about to start now.</p><p>Bucky rolled his eyes at him and pushed himself forward to sit at the edge of the bed. If Steve wasn’t mistaken, Bucky was blushing. “I wanna—I’ve been thinking about it for a while.” Bucky looked down at his hands. He said the rest in a rush. “I wanna eat your ass.” </p><p>The words shocked Steve so much he almost dropped the towel. “Uhh.”</p><p>“It’s just—we don’t need to <em>now</em>. It just felt like a good time to mention it.” Bucky waved between them referring, undoubtedly, to the way they had opened up to each other earlier. </p><p>Steve swallowed. “I—we—you—” Steve took in a breath. “We can. Also now.” </p><p>“Oh.” Bucky raised his eyes to meet Steve’s. Steve’s heart picked up its pace. </p><p>“I just..uhh, I’m gonna have to go back there,” he pointed down the hallway towards the bathroom, “and, umm, do a better job of it.” </p><p>Bucky flushed one of those rare flushes that meant he was extremely embarrassed. Steve was glad he wasn’t the only one. “Right, yes. Okay. Good luck.” </p><p>Steve fled before he could see Bucky closing his eyes and muttering, <em>Good luck, really?</em> to himself. When Steve came back Bucky was still waiting in the same spot. Steve stopped in the doorway. Slowly, he came further inside, closing the door behind himself. </p><p>“This is a bit awkward now,” he stated the obvious. Bucky laughed. </p><p>“A little bit, yeah,” he agreed. </p><p>“We’re not very good at this,” Steve stated the obvious again. </p><p>“Like you said earlier.” Bucky shrugged. “We gotta practice.” </p><p>“Right,” Steve breathed out. “Practice.” </p><p>“Turn off the light and come here, Steve,” Bucky prompted him with a smile. Steve did as he was told, stepping up towards Bucky in the semi-darkness. When he stood in front of him, Bucky took hold of the fist holding Steve’s towel together. He slowly unclasped Steve’s fingers, letting the towel fall to the floor, leaving Steve to stand naked in front of him. Steve’s heart skipped a beat at the intimacy of the action. Bucky bent his head forward, giving Steve’s flank a kiss. He broke away and said, in a thick voice, “Get on the bed, Steve. On your knees.” </p><p>Steve gulped but obeyed. He crawled over the duvet, glad that they had turned up the heating in the morning. The hot air smelled of wood and clean sheets. It was still dark inside the room, but the moon was bright that night and the sky was clear. The mattress behind Steve dipped as Bucky followed him. Bucky’s first touch was hesitant as if touching Steve was somehow new. His hand traced the outline of Steve’s body, his metal hand making goosebumps sprout all over Steve’s skin. Bucky bent down to kiss his neck. He continued down to his shoulder, biting at it gently then laving at the mark he’d left with his tongue. Steve pressed his face into the pillow, already overwhelmed. Bucky traced his spine, first with his hands, then with his mouth and lastly with his tongue. He dipped the tongue into the ridge where Steve’s spine curved, then traced down to where his tailbone ended. Steve was shivering from the mere thought of what Bucky was about to do. </p><p>Bucky kissed the curve of Steve’s ass, grazing his knuckles down the side of Steve’s thigh. “It’s okay, you know,” he whispered against Steve’s skin, “to want this. To want things like this.” </p><p>Steve froze for a second, then nodded. “I know. I know, it’s just…”</p><p>“Hey,” Bucky said, running his hand up and down Steve’s thigh again. “I didn’t mean anything by it. I just wanted you to know. That it’s okay. If it helped hearing it maybe.” </p><p>“I—” Steve was glad that his face was hidden by the pillow. “Thanks, Bucky.”</p><p>“We’ve already concluded we’re both gonna need a lot of therapy anyway.” Bucky’s laugh ghosted against Steve’s hot skin. </p><p>“That we will,” Steve agreed with a laugh of his own. “Are you gonna get on with it now, Barnes?”</p><p>“Always so impatient,” Bucky scolded. </p><p>He gave Steve’s back one final kiss and pulled his ass cheeks apart making the air ghost against Steve’s hole. Before Steve even truly had the time to feel the cold, Bucky’s hot breath was there, and then his mouth was pressing closer, hot and wet as his tongue swiped over Steve’s opening. Steve was thankful for the darkness because he was sure he was flushing right down to his ass. Bucky gave his ass another lick and another, pressing even closer, the grip of his metal hand on Steve’s ass cheek bruising. Not that Steve could feel it, lost in the sensation of the hot wetness that was making his whole body shudder. When Bucky’s tongue pushed inside, Steve felt like he had ascended to another dimension. It wasn’t fair that this felt so good, <em>Jesus fucking Christ</em>, it felt so fucking good. He knew he was moaning into the pillow. Loudly. The more Steve writhed, the more insistent Bucky’s mouth became. His stubble was scratching at Steve’s sensitive skin, but Steve couldn’t have cared less, as he kept pushing back against Bucky’s sweet, sweet fucking mouth. </p><p>“Bucky, Bucky, please,” he gasped into the pillow. “I need more.” </p><p>“God, Steve, seeing you like this…” Bucky whispered as he slipped a finger inside of Steve as well, doubling his efforts. The feeling of both Bucky’s finger inside him and his tongue on his rim nearly brought Steve over the edge. The only thing that saved him was Bucky pulling away, placing a hot hand on Steve’s lower back. </p><p>“Steve, can I?” His voice was rough when he said it. “I’m so fucking hard.” </p><p>“Yeah, yeah,” Steve mumbled into the fabric, hoping that Bucky could hear him. Bucky got some more lube from the drawer, slicking his fingers up and pressing two to Steve’s opening. Steve felt like he was ready enough already, but he let Bucky prepare him some more. When Bucky was finally satisfied, he lined up his cock with Steve’s hole. </p><p>“Will you—” Steve stopped him before Bucky started pushing in. “Will you be gentle this time?”</p><p>Steve felt ridiculous for asking, but the softness in Bucky’s voice chased all the doubts away. “Yeah, Stevie, of course.” Bucky bent forward to kiss Steve’s neck. “Whatever you need.”</p><p>Bucky pressed in, the head of his dick stretching Steve open further. He pressed his chest to Steve’s back as he pushed in slowly. When he was seated as deep inside of Steve as he could go, he stayed still, letting Steve adjust for a while. Steve turned his head, to meet Bucky’s mouth in a slanted, open-mouthed kiss. “Okay,” he breathed against Bucky’s lips and Bucky finally moved. Their bodies slid together, sensually seeking contact as soon as they parted and Steve had to bury his head into the pillow again, overwhelmed by the sensations. Bucky wrapped his arm around his torso, pressing as close as he could, then sat back onto his haunches, pulling Steve back with him on a heavy breath. </p><p>“Don’t hide from me,” he whispered into Steve’s ear as he rearranged them, Bucky’s legs extended out in front of him, his left arm behind him propping him up while he pulled Steve closer to his chest with the other. Steve’s back was sweaty, but so was Bucky’s chest and their skin slid together wonderfully as Steve started moving on top of Bucky. He dropped his head back onto Bucky’s shoulder, giving him better access to his neck, which Bucky promptly used, attaching his mouth to it, peppering it with soft kisses. </p><p>“Always loved it when you rode me,” he told Steve, tracing his nose along the length of Steve’s shoulder. “You look so beautiful when you take what you want like this.” </p><p>Steve shivered at Bucky’s words, but Bucky didn’t stop. “Look at you, Stevie. <em>Jesus.</em> You’re so hard your dick is leaking.” </p><p>“You gonna—” Steve brushed his hair out of his eyes because it had gotten plastered to his forehead. “You gonna get mouthy on me now?” </p><p>“Dunno,” Bucky splayed his hand over Steve’s stomach, avoiding Steve’s dick because he was a teasing bastard. He slid his hand up, over Steve’s straining muscles, up his ribs, until he was cupping Steve’s chest, thumbing at the nipple. “Depends if you like it?”</p><p>“Yeah. Yeah, I like it.” Steve nodded, delirious from the pleasurable sensations consuming his body. </p><p>Bucky’s mouth pressed into his cheek. “Well, in that case, sweetheart—” Bucky was panting harder and harder the longer Steve moved “—I gotta tell you, you ride like no other.”</p><p>With that, Bucky seemed to abandon all desire for teasing, the heat between them mounting. He dropped his hand onto Steve’s cock, wrapping it up with his fingers as he started sliding his fist over the head in rhythm with Steve’s hips. Steve had been so close for so long, that he practically hissed when Bucky’s hand made contact. He knew Bucky would be the first one to finish this time, though. Steve could tell from the way his hand faltered every few pulls, the motions becoming jerkier. </p><p>“Steve, Stevie.” Bucky’s mouth was on Steve’s neck again, as he abandoned Steve’s dick, to seek better purchase. He wrapped his arm around Steve and pulled him in close as his chest against Steve’s back shook and, on a loud groan Bucky was coming, barely holding them up as his body was overcome by a wave of an intense orgasm. Steve took himself into his hand, unable to wait for Bucky to recover. Holding onto the arm Bucky had wrapped around him with his left, he pulled himself off with this right, spilling over both their forearms with a few quick tugs.</p><p>They fell back into a sweaty heap and Steve shut his eyes for a moment, letting his breath calm down, letting himself enjoy the feeling of Bucky’s softening dick inside his ass. Because it <em>was </em>enjoyable and he would be damned if he felt bad about this pleasure. When Steve wanted to pull away to get himself into a more comfortable position, Bucky made a sound of protest, pulling him back on top of himself. </p><p>“Bucky, we really gotta get cleaned up before this all dries up.” </p><p>“I don’t care.” Bucky’s hair tickled Steve’s ear when he shook his head. “I’ve slept in worse.” </p><p>Steve hated to admit that that was quite a compelling argument. He had certainly slept in worse, too. Bucky let Steve slip off of him, but he didn’t let go of his hold, only scooting closer, apparently not caring that their heads were also on the wrong side of the bed. </p><p>“Just for a little while,” he muttered as he pulled the sheets over them. They slept like that for a long while. Until the morning, in fact, and longer still because, for once, staying in bed was more compelling than getting breakfast. </p><p> </p><p>✩✩✩✩✩✩</p><p> </p><p>“What’s the time?” Scott asked loudly. </p><p>“Shh!” Three voices rounded on him in the dark.</p><p>“We can’t look at our phones now,” Bucky reminded him. He was the only one who wasn’t about to jump out of their small Huyndai and take for the hills. Not because they were afraid, but because everyone but Bucky was bored out of their minds. They had been sitting in the cramped car, in the dark, for hours and the worst thing was they didn’t even know how many hours that was. They weren’t allowed to look at their phones because the glare of the light from the screen could alert Ross or his goons that they weren’t alone. If Ross and his goons were even coming that was. Steve started doubting the efficiency of their stakeout hours ago. How many hours was that? <em>Again,</em> he couldn’t even tell. At first, when the night hadn’t been as dark yet, they were able to rely on Sam’s wristwatch, but now fog had crawled up the valley, coating them in a mist that hid the moon—and everything else—from sight. </p><p>Steve sat in the back of the car next to Scott. At some point during the night (Steve suspected it was at around midnight), Scott had dozed off on Steve’s shoulder. Steve was very happy that they were fully dressed in their ski suits as he had no doubts that Scott was drooling on his shoulder. Why did everyone choose to drool on his shoulder? </p><p>Scott was wide awake now, though. Wide awake and bored. Steve could relate to that. </p><p>“It’s so fucking cold,” Sam whispered, his teeth chattering. The problem with car stakeouts in the middle of the mountains was that you couldn’t put the heating on, so the car had steadily been cooling down closer and closer to outside temperatures, countered only by their own body heat. </p><p>“Bet you wish the car was even smaller now,” Steve couldn’t help but say. Sam turned from behind the driver’s seat. Steve could only see his silhouette, but he knew Sam was throwing him an ugly look. </p><p>They sat in silence for a few minutes until Steve felt the time was nigh to express <em>his</em> woes. “I hate waiting.” </p><p>“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Bucky groaned. “You are all a bunch of babies.”</p><p>"You're very alert for someone who skipped breakfast," Sam pointed out. They had been getting teased about it all day. Bucky paid him no mind. </p><p>He was the only one who wasn’t phased by waiting or cold or boredom. He had settled into the passenger seat with a stillness and calm that Steve knew from his days as a sniper. The Winter Soldier training had only made these characteristics more potent and now Bucky didn’t even get bored anymore as opposed to during the war when he, as he had once admitted to Steve, “wanted to die every minute that went over an hour of his set waiting mark”. </p><p>“Do you know how long I had to wait for to shoot Kennedy? Fourteen hours in the same spot without moving.” </p><p>Sam’s head slowly panned over to look at Bucky. His mouth was gaping open, as were Scott’s and Steve’s. A high pitched noise escaped Sam’s mouth, and Steve knew what he wanted to say, even if Sam’s mouth hadn’t moved to form the words. <em>You what?!?!</em></p><p>Bucky shuffled in his seat, uncomfortable. “Maybe that wasn’t the best way to break the news.” </p><p>“You shot JFK? <em>You?!</em>” Sam finally found the ability to speak again, but all pretense of quiet communication was abandoned. </p><p>“Well it’s not like I <em>meant </em>to,” Bucky defended himself. “I mean, I did mean to, it wasn’t an accident just… I wouldn’t do it now?”</p><p>“Wow,” Scott breathed, puffs of white forming in the air in front of his mouth. “I’m, like, really impressed right now.” </p><p>Sam opened his mouth to say more but was cut off by a faint sound of rolling tires. Soon after, the rumble of a car motor followed and two circles of light could be seen rounding a turn that took the car to the parking lot. What looked like a black Jeep parked by the side. The headlights stayed turned on, shedding light on the few paces of gravel in front of the car and thick fog above it. Steve was certain that not only was the driver unable to see them hiding inside the Hyundai, he also couldn’t see their car. Seeing how Ross had come to Mürren alone, the driver in the lone Jeep was probably him and he was probably waiting for the shipment of the serum. They were aware that the other guy was bringing reinforcements. What remained to be seen was how many. </p><p>Steve patted the gun in his pocket. Each of them had a weapon, one of the few he and Bucky had taken out of the Quinjet back at Crimea. They had a good stock of shockers and knives between them as well, although most of the knives were strapped over various places on Bucky’s body. He had to strap them on over the ski suit which made him look like some sort of colorful Michelin man. Other than those weapons, the four of them would have to rely on their own fists. Steve and Bucky had quietly agreed to cover Sam and Scott who were more vulnerable than them. </p><p>When Steve was almost lulled into a false sense of security that more waiting produced, Bucky perked up. Steve focused, trying to tell what caused the reaction. He could hear the sounds of another vehicle (or two?) coming from the distance, not a rumbling, but a roaring of the motor this time. That had to be a bigger truck. Sam and Scott had caught onto the sound as well, sitting up straighter. </p><p>“Two vehicles incoming,” Bucky said, voice low. </p><p>“You sure it’s two?” Steve checked. </p><p>Bucky nodded. That wasn’t good news. More vehicles meant more people and although Steve could handle a dozen men by himself, more people meant more chaos and it meant more chances for someone to get hurt. The trucks’ headlights lit up the fog on the road beside and they, like the Jeep, swerved onto the gravel parking lot, stopping next to the Jeep so that they were lined side by side. A man jumped out from behind the driver’s wheel of one of the trucks and one, two, three, four, five men filed out from behind the same truck, positioning themselves around Ross’s Jeep to stand guard. Ross stepped out of the car as well. The other truck remained where it was, not moving. </p><p>Bucky, Steve, Scott and Sam shared an intense look, their expressions still mere silhouettes in the night. Nodding at each other they slowly and quietly opened the doors each on their side and stepped out into the freezing night. Their ski suits were brightly colored so they couldn’t count on the element of surprise unless they moved fast. The plan was for Sam, Scott and Bucky to act as a distraction, while Steve tried to climb into the trucks from behind, find the serum and take it out. Realistically, they knew they wouldn’t be able to escape without a fight, but getting the serum was their highest priority. </p><p>The gravel beneath their feet was crunching as they made their way to the trucks around the edge of the parking lot. Luckily, both of the trucks and the Jeep had kept their engines running, making it hard to hear the crunch of their steps. Bucky, Scott and Sam all positioned themselves at various points around the scene, out of the range of the headlights, as Steve snuck up behind the trucks. Now the problem was there were two of them. Five men had come out of the first truck, so Steve took a gamble and zoned in on the truck whose driver was still behind the wheel. He took a big breath in, took hold of the latch and threw it open. Before his eyes could even adjust to the faint lights lining the edge of the floor of the truck, he was kicked in the face, flying backward as blood spilled from his nose. </p><p>All hell broke loose. </p><p>The four men guarding Ross tightened their circle around him and started shooting into the night, not even aiming anywhere. They were emptying their magazines as if they had hundreds of them, another point of worry for Steve who was being punched again just when he had managed to pick himself up. He didn’t fall this time. Punching back with all his strength he laid the guy down in under a second, but more were coming, jumping out of the back of the truck. Only two of them engaged in a fight with Steve, the others running towards the second truck. </p><p>“The serum’s in the second truck!” Steve shouted, hoping that the other three could hear him. They were fighting too, from what he could tell. Bodies were falling from the shots that rang out from the periphery so Steve knew they’d gotten rid of some of the agents, but they would have to move in soon, engage in one on one combat and they were severely outnumbered. More than that, they were scattered and these men weren’t. Steve tasered the idiot trying to knee him in the stomach and kicked the other one in the face as payback even if it had been his pal who had done it to Steve. He ran to the other truck, seeing Sam punching the daylights out of a guy who’d lost his helmet. The guy didn’t get back up. Scott had somehow managed to crawl under the serum truck unnoticed and Steve hoped he would be able to hand him the serum once he made it to the inside of the truck. At that moment though, Sam got himself into a chokehold, unable to get out of it, so Scott lunged from beneath the truck, revealing himself as he tackled the man’s legs. Steve jumped into the serum truck, four sets of guns turning on him. He was fast though, he moved out of the way, taking hold of someone’s head as he practically ran on the inside walls of the truck and kicked another guy in the chest. He got punched then, not by a fist but by the butt end of the guy and it stung like a motherfucker. When he was about to retaliate, he saw the side door—and fuck this truck had a side door—open to reveal a screaming Thaddeus Ross. One of the guys Steve hadn’t got to yet, heaved up a case from the ground and threw it out through the opening. Ross caught it and with the escort of five armed men ran to his Jeep. </p><p>“Bucky!” Steve called out, but Bucky was already on it, getting rid of one guy, then the other. But Ross was already in his car when someone jumped Bucky from behind slashing through his ski suit with a knife. Bucky yelped, but Steve couldn’t see what happened next because he still had two living and breathing bastards to deal with. Before he could even lay the last one to sleep, he could hear tires digging into the gravel and Bucky and Sam cursing. Steve jumped out of the truck.</p><p>“Let’s go, let’s go!” The driver of the first truck Steve had attacked shouted through the window. He turned the truck around, and the agents started jumping back in through the open door. Steve was about to run over and start decking them in the face when Bucky grabbed him. </p><p>“Ross, Steve, we gotta catch Ross,” he said insistently. Ross’s Jeep was no longer there. There were two beams of light moving through the fog further down the road of the valley. </p><p>“Fuck!” Steve cursed. Bucky pulled him forward by his bicep, waving at the Hyundai at the other end of the parking lot. Sam and Scott were already running towards it. The four of them threw themselves inside, Bucky in the driver’s seat this time. He started the car, with a grumble about how, “If this old Hyundai can catch a Jeep, I’ll never say another word against it.”</p><p>They were on the road faster than the truck and it was a good thing because as soon as the truck started tailing them, they were being shot at. Luckily, at least the Hyundai could outrun the cumbersome truck, so they didn’t have to worry about that once they started speeding faster and faster down the road. The faster they drove, the more it seemed like the Jeep wasn’t getting any closer. Bucky shifted gears and pressed on the gas pedal with all his might and, finally, it seemed like meter by meter they were gaining on the Jeep, especially in those swift turns Bucky was so skilled at making and Ross was not. They drove for miles, only managing to gain enough speed that they were tailing the jeep from a hundred or so yards away. The motor of the i10 was whining and Steve was afraid the car would burst into flames. </p><p>“Fuck, we’re never gonna catch him.” He wanted to punch the seat in front of him but he didn’t want to break Bucky’s focus. </p><p>“I might have an idea,” Scott spoke up after Steve’s outburst. </p><p>“What’s the idea?!” Sam practically shouted when Scott didn’t go on. </p><p>“I have these ants,” Scott started. Steve thought he might have been kicked in the head just a little bit too hard because he could swear that Scott had said <em>ants</em>. </p><p>“You have what?” Bucky apparently also hadn’t understood what Scott had meant. </p><p>“I have this colony of ants that I’ve been nursing in a jar.” Scott bent down to rummage in the backpack by his feet, pulling out a jar with holes on top and a small anthill inside. “I picked them up at Nat’s and I’ve been taking care of them. Thought they might come in handy. It’s cold right now so they’re slower, but maybe they could still help.”</p><p>“We’re doomed,” Sam sighed, dropping his face into his hands.</p><p>“Help?” Steve asked. He failed to see how the tiny winged creatures crawling over the twigs inside the jar could <em>help.</em> In fact, he was close to declaring himself and Scott crazy. </p><p>“Steve,” Scott turned to Steve like he was the stupid one. “I’m Ant-Man.” </p><p>With that he popped a hearing aid onto his ear, opened the jar and focused. The ants started crawling up towards the opening. </p><p>“Where’s my big boy Anthony the Twenty-Seventh?” Scott cooed at the jar. A big ant crawled to the front. It was hard to see, but something seemed to be attached to its head. </p><p>“Can you <em>talk to them?”</em> Steve asked in disbelief when the ant obeyed and crawled onto Scott’s fingers, looking up at him seriously as if waiting for instructions. For some reason, Steve had thought Scott was dubbed Ant-Man only because he could become ant-sized in his suit. He never imagined he could actually talk to ants as well. He supposed that was what the hearing aid was for. </p><p>“Scott, please tell us what we’re doing with the ants, this car is about to die any second,” Bucky urged him.</p><p>“Right, so Anthony here has a camera on his head,” Scott explained. In the front seat, Sam muttered <em>Anthony has a camera on his head</em> into his hands. Scott paid him no mind. “The camera connects to my phone via the signal.”</p><p>Scott glanced out the front window. “Okay, we’re as close as we’ll get to Ross.” With that, he opened the window to the whipping wind. The ants in the jar buzzed when he focused on them again, then with a whirr of tiny wings, they rose towards the window and out. “It’s too cold for them, but I think some of them will make it to the Jeep.” </p><p>Scott pulled out his phone from the pocket, tapped on it a few times and, to Steve’s complete and utter disbelief, there was a video of the road, lit by the headlights of their car, and the backlights of the Jeep. The picture wobbled every time the ant flapped its wings, but it was clear enough that Steve could tell the ants were gaining on the jeep. It got closer and closer, and occasionally Steve could see the other ants flying below. The leading ant landed on the back window of the jeep, clutching at nothing with its tiny legs. Anthony crawled forth and supervised the ants as they flew down to the crack in between the trunk door and the rest of the car. They filed in one by one, Anthony following last. </p><p>“What’s going on?” Bucky asked when nothing but silence was coming from the back of their car. </p><p>“I think...I think it’s working. The ants are in,” Steve whispered in awe. “I don’t know what they’ll do, but the ants are inside, they’re crawling over the case with the serum now. They’re crawling <em>inside</em>.”</p><p>Scott nodded proudly but didn’t add anything. He was pressing his hearing aid tightly to his ear, focusing entirely on the image on his phone. Steve could see that Anthony had crawled into the case as well, the image going darker, only shapes discernible in the darkness of the case. </p><p>“Yes!” Scott yelled excitedly. Three loud “What’s?!” answered him. </p><p>“The serum is in bags. Not in vials. Anthony says...” he listened closely. “He says ten bags.” </p><p><em>“Anthony says,”</em> Sam whispered, face still in his hands. He sounded like he was close to tears.</p><p>“Why’s that a good thing?” Steve asked, feeling like he had entered a surreal world where nothing worked as you thought it did. </p><p>“They can pierce through the bags! Vials would have been harder, but they’ll pierce through the bags no problem!” He smiled widely, finally looking up at the other three briefly. The dumbstruck expressions only made him grin harder. He turned back to the video on his phone, “Get to it my legends.” </p><p>The order made the ants swarm towards the center of the case from all sides. Anthony joined, walking over a mound of something that looked like it was filled with liquid. Anthony’s pincers descended into the mound, tearing into the plastic. </p><p>Sam finally lifted his face from his hands and whipped around in his seat. Scott angled his phone so that he could see better. The serum was now spraying all around, the ants dodging it and flying this way and that piercing more and more of the bags. When the liquid was steadily running out, out of the bags and out of the case, soaking into the car, the ants retreated to the ceiling of the case. </p><p>“It’s done,” Steve whispered in awe. “The fucking ants did it.”</p><p>“What if Ross tries to use what’s left in the case?” Sam wondered, concerned. His face was hopeful though, in the faint light of the breaking dawn. </p><p>“I don’t think there’s enough,” Steve shook his head. </p><p>Scott tilted his head to the side. “Well… I could always make them poop in it?”</p><p>Steve laughed, clapping Scott’s shoulder. He beamed up at Steve with the excitement of a child. “Scott, you’re incredible. Yes, make them poop in it. Vomit too, maybe. You can never be too sure.”</p><p>Scott passed on the final order and turned off the phone to give the ants some privacy. “Goodbye, my friends. You’re free now. I hope you find a nice hut to weather the winter in and make many babies in spring.” </p><p>Having listened to the conversation, Bucky slowed down their battered car, parking it by the side of the road. He let his head fall back against the headrest, closing his eyes. “Ants, huh? Life never stops throwing you curveballs, does it? I’ve never been bested by ants before. ” </p><p>“If it’s in any consolation, I still like you more.” Scott patted Bucky’s shoulder. </p><p>They all laughed, shocked and relieved that they succeeded in their mission, no matter the unconventional turn of events. The fog had thinned and they could see the shapes of the mountains behind it. The ones on the east side were backlit by a brighter light—the promise of sunrise. Bucky turned their old Hyundai around and drove back up the valley, towards their hotel. </p><p> </p><p>✩✩✩✩✩✩</p><p> </p><p>“The lady said Friday night is movie night!” Scott yelled from the bathroom when he heard Steve and Bucky try to protest that they really didn’t feel like going to see the movie. They were all bruised up and battered and, even though they’d slept practically the whole day, bar from calling Nat to recount the nights’ events. She had said, “Good thing you could handle it without me, boys, I’ve procured a cow to complete my image of a lone Alpine milkmaid and have been busy searching for YouTube videos about how to milk a cow.” </p><p>No one had believed her, so Nat walked to the small barn by the house and flipped the camera around to show them a large brown cow with white spots over her body. She had very big horns but her eyes were kind when she <em>moo</em>ed at the camera. Sam had started laughing so hard Steve was afraid he was going to reopen the stitches on his arm, he was shaking so much.</p><p>Scott came out of the bathroom when neither Steve nor Bucky had moved from the couch. He had his hands on his hips. “Listen, they’re playing Harry Potter, The Chamber of Secrets. This is one of the movies with the good Dumbledore. We are not missing this.”</p><p>Reluctantly, Steve and Bucky pushed themselves off the couch. They were in their pull-overs and sweatpants, but Steve wasn’t going to change only to go to a movie night at a hotel. He raised his hands. “Fine, I give in. We’re going.”  </p><p>They made their way downstairs. People were already milling around the dining room, picking up snacks from the tables that lined the walls. The four of them went over as well, looking through the selection of chocolates, cookies, mulled wine and tea. There were also the classic cinema staples like popcorn and cans of Coke. Steve grabbed those, the familiarity of them bringing a smile to his face. They were cinema staples for a reason. Sam followed suit, but Bucky and Scott, who had more of a sweet tooth, cruised along the tables, throwing sweets into their paper bags at random. When they made it to the end of the table where Steve and Sam stood, the bags were almost full. </p><p>“What?” Bucky asked at Steve’s raised eyebrows. </p><p>When Steve started to answer they were interrupted by the receptionist. “Anything else I can get for you?” </p><p>Bucky looked at Steve carefully and Steve could tell he made an effort to curb the instinct to dial up his charm. It’s not that Steve would have truly been angry about it now, but he still appreciated the effort. He smiled at Bucky softly. </p><p>“No thank you, we have everything we need,” Bucky told her politely. When he turned to face her she balked a bit, grimacing. </p><p>“Ouch, what happened to your face?” She turned her eyes to the rest of them, taking in the bruises and scratches on them as well. Steve’s and Bucky’s had mostly healed up, it was Sam and Scott who looked really banged up. “What happened to all of you.”</p><p>Steve raised his eyebrows at Bucky, giving him a smirk before he turned to face the receptionist with a grave expression on his face. “It’s a skin condition.”  </p><p>The punch that flew at his shoulder from the side almost made him spill his popcorn all over the floor. The woman frowned, opened her mouth, then closed it. She looked at them with suspicion. “Well, enjoy your evening,” she said and took off. </p><p>“Do you see how stupid that excuse is now?” Steve threw at Bucky as they all went in search of good chairs. The lights had dimmed indicating the movie was about to start. </p><p>“Fine,” Bucky grumbled around a cookie he had just bitten. “It’s stupid, okay.” </p><p>“Literally half the time, I don’t know what you two are talking about,” Sam said behind Steve’s back when they tried to politely push past a few people that were already seated. “And most of that half of the time I’m glad for it.” </p><p>Neither Steve or Bucky had time to respond to that because the opening music had started playing. They sat down in the middle row. There were about thirty or so comfortable chairs in the room. Not all of them were occupied yet, but Steve could see some late-comers at the entrance, so he supposed almost the entire hotel had chosen to participate in the event. </p><p>Steve had, of course, heard about the young wizard Harry Potter who saves the world multiple times in a series of books. He had even known there were movies but he never bothered to watch them. A few minutes in, however, even he could admit that the magical world was very enjoyable. It was like he was pulled into a different but still familiar world, full of small wonders like talking paintings and floating Christmas decorations. Right when Hermione Granger was found stunned, Steve’s concentration was broken by the feeling of Bucky jolting. He turned to see Scott leaning forward in his seat, trying to get Bucky’s attention. He reached inside Sam’s popcorn bag despite the scolding swat he received in return and threw another popcorn at Bucky’s face. Bucky caught it this time. </p><p>“What?” he hissed.</p><p>Scott motioned towards Steve with his head, then looked pointedly at where their shoulders were pressed together. Bucky looked at Scott confused, shaking his head, not understanding. Scott looked at them then at Sam’s hand making a suggestive face. </p><p>“Hold his hand,” Scott finally whispered when Bucky didn’t move. </p><p>“What? No,” Bucky hissed again. “Stop getting all up in my business.” </p><p>He turned towards the screen again. Another popcorn flew over, hitting him in the neck. Steve could barely contain his snicker. He didn’t know whether Scott truly thought Steve hadn’t caught onto his machinations or if he didn’t care. </p><p>“Hold. His. Hand.” Scott insisted in a low voice. </p><p>Bucky rolled his eyes and muttered a disgruntled <em>fine </em>in Scott’s direction. He glanced at Steve, moving to grab his hand in his. </p><p>“You really don’t have—” Steve began, but Bucky cut him off. </p><p>“Shut up, Rogers.” Bucky took hold of Steve’s hand, which had been resting on the armrest, rather aggressively. “Imma hold your hand if I wanna hold your hand.” </p><p>That said, he twined their fingers together and fixed his eyes firmly onto the screen. Steve sat in the dark, Bucky’s hand in his, not even able to follow the movie anymore. His mind traveled back to the 1930s, to all the times when he and Bucky had sat in theatre halls watching black and white films playing, with couples all around them holding hands. Steve could still feel the echo of a distant yearning, the want to hold Bucky’s hand just like that reverberating inside him. And now, here he was, watching a magical child fight a giant snake with Bucky’s hand in his and all Steve could really think about was how his hand was sticky from popcorn. He squeezed Bucky’s hand gently. Bucky squeezed back. Out of the corner of his eye, Steve saw a little smile sneak over Bucky’s face and Steve felt one spread over his own as well. </p><p><br/>
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It was a<em> yeehaw</em> kind of mood alright. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Disclamer: apparently winged ants are reproductive ants and can only be found at certain times of the year and I assume winter isn't one of them, but we're just going to ignore that little fact in this fic. </p><p>How are we feeling?! Has this fic made you fall deeply and irrevocably in love with Scott or is that just me?</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Follow elkane on <a href="https://elkane.tumblr.com/">Tumblr</a> and <a href="https://twitter.com/elkane16">Twitter</a> to see more of her gorgeous art! You can also follow me on <a href="https://synonym-for-life.tumblr.com/">Tumblr</a>.</p><p>If you like the fic, reblog this <a href="https://synonym-for-life.tumblr.com/post/637779254866837504/a-hat-a-horse-a-hyundai-and-the-will-to-ride">Tumblr post</a> or this <a href="https://twitter.com/anotherstuckybb/status/1339754748350767104">Twitter post</a> to spread the word! :*</p><p> </p><p>  <strong>I'm not overreacting when I say I wouldn't have been able to finish this without your comments spurring me on. I wrote <em>14 thousand</em> words in two days. Y'all fucking gave me a superpower.</strong></p><p> </p><p>Oh also, to all who celebrate, I hope you have a very merry Christmas, and to those who don't, I hope the rest of December treats you kindly and I wish you a great New Year!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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